


The Unwilling King

by Aviss



Series: The Unwilling King [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: Brienne,She used wildfire. I had to. And for my sins, they've given me a crown. Come take it off my head and bring whichever Stark has the sturdiest neck to hold it. Hurry, before the Dragon Queen takes it with my head still attached to it.Jaime.





	1. Long May He Reign

**Author's Note:**

> It has been called to my attention that I should warn Jaime/Brienne is the endgame and the Jaime/Cersei relationship is brief and doesn't end that well. So please, consider yourself warned.
> 
> I started writing this before season 8, basically with the note in the title because I found odd that Jaime had nothing to say to Cersei using wildfire to blow up Baelor. So I started this, but got distracted by the actual season 8 and then by writing fix-its for the trainwreck that was season 8.  
> This won't be very Cersei friendly, I'm afraid, but at least she's not there for long :P  
> I have been gifted a banner by the lovely Ro_Nordmann, thanks so much!!!! It's beautiful :)
> 
> Warnings in the end notes.

[](https://i.imgur.com/DHcBqLe.jpg)

 

He made it in time for the coronation, and Jamie didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. In the distance, the ruins of what had been the most beautiful sept in Westeros were still smoking and the small folk he had seen around the Red Keep had the same terrified look on them he remembered from his early days as Kingsguard.

It wasn't the only thing that was the same; Cersei's eyes as she was crowned held the same madness of Aerys's last days, her eyes the green of the wildfire that had burned the sept according to the witnesses they had encountered.

He watched from above with mounting horror as the implications finally sunk in; the satisfaction radiating off Cersei when Qyburn placed the golden crown on her shorn hair, her black gown the only concession to the fact her last child had had to die for her to sit on that thrice-damned chair, flimsy as her claim to her throne was it could only stem from Tommen. He still didn't know how or why, but had the strong suspicion that it would be her own hand behind it this time.

It was difficult for Jaime to admit, even to himself, but this was what she had always wanted. Not to be Queen to a King, her power always dependant on the man by her side, but to be Queen on her own right, her word law and the power her own.

And if all her children had to be sacrificed in her quest for power, it appeared to be a price she was willing to pay.

She was going to be even worse for the realm than Joffrey had been, something he had not believed possible before.

He looked at the faces of the remaining courtiers, the gaps left by those killed in the explosion glaringly obvious, and saw none of the joy or even relief present at Tommen's coronation; fear and hatred were the most prominent emotions he could see, and he was thrown back to the past again, to his days of standing next to Aerys, presiding over a terrified court of people wondering whether they would be the next to be burned alive.

_He couldn't do it again._

With a heavy heart, Jaime turned from the ceremony and headed to his rooms in the keep. He knew what he had to do, as much as he didn't want to. He hadn't wanted to before, either, had sworn an oath to prevent that happening and meant every word of it, but like that time fate had put him in the position to be the unlikely saviour of the realm.

And like before, his main regret was he had not done it sooner.

…

It was insulting how easy it really was to access the Queen's rooms; if he had still been Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Queensguard now, he would have at least posted a guard outside the Queen's rooms and one inside to make sure nothing was tampered with when she wasn't around, especially when half the realm wanted her dead.

But he had been relieved of his duties the moment Cersei had deemed him useless for her climb to power, sent him away when he had given up everything, his rightful title and his honour, to be next to her. He had hurried back to her side, only to realize she hadn't sent him to the Riverlands to end the fighting there, she had sent him away from King's Landing so she could carry her out her slaughter uncontested.

His time in the Riverlands had been eye-opening, especially once Lady Brienne had sought him out. It had been good to see her, sturdy frame clad in the armour Jaime had commissioned for her, Oathkeeper in her hand. She was still homely and mannish, but there was a new confidence in her posture, her gaze still as clear and beautiful as he remembered. The North suited her, the fulfilment of her vows even more. It made him smile remembering her voice saying she had seen honour in him. Even if she was the only person who ever saw it, that was enough for him.

If there was honour in him like Brienne had said, then why was he doing his sister's bidding in an unnecessary war? Why had he soiled his cloak so many years ago if he was going to stand and watch his sweet sister commit the same crimes he had killed Aerys for?

He waited for Cersei in her rooms with the wine ready on the table. He had considered a few drops of poison on the wine, it would be painless and quick, and he didn't want her to suffer, not really. But poison was a craven's weapon, and he was many things but craven had never been one of them.

He was going to confront his sister face to face, and he'd do whatever it was necessary the same way.

She came into the room a few minutes later and stared mutely and stopped her guard at the door, dismissing him. So many years of secrecy had ingrained some useful habits. "Jaime," she said, her voice low and seductive. "My dear brother, I've missed you."

He also remembered this from Aerys's reign, how his triumphs would spark a carnal desire in him, much to the poor Queen's dismay and pain. Jaime had asked once whether they should be protecting the Queen, her cries carrying loud and clear to where they were stationed outside her chambers, and had been immediately shot down. _Not from him_. As if being King excused being a monster.

"The Riverlands are ours," he said, standing up from where he had been waiting and approaching her, the way he'd always done, attracted to her like a moth to the flame. He gathered her in his arms and pressed his lips against hers, and she turned her head so his lips grazed her cheek instead and disentangled herself from him, her mouth twisted in a satisfied smile.

Cersei went to serve herself some wine and drank deeply. "Good."

"I can't help but notice the crown on your head and the smoking crater where the Sept of Baelor was," he approached her again, hands by his side. He saw her flicker of distaste when her eyes fell on his gold hand and made to hide it. "Where's Tommen? Where's our son?"

The grief on her face was too stark to be fake, and at least she hadn't sunk so low not to mourn her own son. "They took him from me," she spat, fury and pain entwined in her voice. "That bitch Margaery and the High Sparrow, they poisoned his mind and he--" she broke down, eyes flooding with tears, and Jaime wondered whether he had been mistaken. Maybe she wasn't to blame, maybe he didn't have to do anything rash, maybe the madness he had seen was just grief for their son. She took a deep breath and drank the rest of her wine, composing herself. "He took his own life."

No. Anything but that. Jaime hurried to her and folded her into his arms. "Why?"

"When the Sept blew up, he jumped from the red keep."

Jaime closed his eyes and let his forehead rest on her shoulder for a moment until Cersei pushed him aside and served herself another glass of wine. As if putting aside a worn gown, he could see her leaving her grief and memories behind with each sip of the wine, until she finally put the glass on the table and turned her back to him. "Help me," she commanded, and Jaime obeyed like he had done his entire life. "Did you have any trouble in Riverrun?"

"No, I took the castle with minimum bloodshed." He started undoing the clasps on the back of her gown, running his fingers through her short hair and the soft skin of her neck.

"You must be proud of yourself," she said, taunting. "Did you at least kill the Blackfish?"

"He died in the assault." He didn't mention allowing Brienne of Tarth to cross the siege land nor allowing her to escape down the river. He didn't mention his promise to let the Tully army North to fight for the Starks if so they chose.

"Well, at least that's something." she pushed back against him and turned her face, brushing her lips against his. Then she turned fully and held his face between her hands, kissing him deeply. Jaime wanted to melt against her, the same way he had done his entire life, and also wanted to be as far away as possible from there, his gorge rising. He threaded his left hand on her hair and opened to her kiss, feeling his body pressing against hers, still eager for her touch.

Maybe he didn't need to do this, maybe she wasn't too far gone. He didn't want to, wanted to stay here in her arms forever, where things made sense. "I have missed you," she moaned against his mouth and walked him to the bed, kissing and kissing him, and Jaime allowed her everything, the same as he had always done.

"Don't send me away again," he said, letting his left hand move up and down her back, his golden one on the bed where it wouldn't touch her lest she shuddered in revulsion like last time.

"After you get me Highgarden, you can stay with me," she said and climbed on the bed on top of him.

Afterwards, they were entwined and sated, the relief of not compounding his Kingslaying with Kinslaying making Jaime almost giddy. Cersei had kept drinking, her eyes glassy now with the effects of wine.

"What happened to the Sept?" he finally asked, because he had heard it was wildfire. Nobody knew better than him there were caches of the horrible stuff under King's Landing. He had hoped to get rid of it, but wildfire was almost impossible to destroy and he was just one man, too fearful to tell anyone about it lest they decided to use it. Soon his duties and Cersei had made him forget about it. As long as nobody else knew it was there, they were safe; he had killed everyone who knew.

"They were going to find me guilty, _they had to go_ ," she said, and Jaime felt his blood freezing in his veins.

It had been her after all. "Guilty?"

"Cousin Lancel couldn't keep his mouth shut, I had to admit to fornication," she was pouting as if that was an inconvenience more than anything else. As if she wasn't admitting to betraying him in a way he had not believed she would ever do on top of slaughtering hundreds of people. She might have shared Robert's bed, but that had been duty, and she had never gone willingly. Not really. "He was going to babble about Robert. If you hadn't let yourself be captured by the Starks, it would have been you killing Robert and I wouldn't have needed Lancel."

"But why wildfire?" he asked, his voice faint. If she hadn't been drunk she wouldn't be admitting those things, Jaime was sure of it. But she was, and suddenly his world was tilting, the scales fading from his eyes. _If he hadn't let himself be captured_. As if his year of imprisonment and everything that had happened to him getting back to her was nothing, just the annoyance of having to find someone else to carry out her crime. And she had paid Cousin Lancel for his service the same way she had just paid Jaime for taking the Riverlands for her. He felt like being sick. "And how did you know about it?"

He had only ever told the tale of the wildfire to one person, and it had not been Cersei. He had wanted to confide in her, but she had never asked him why he did it, only commended him for doing it. He had just wanted one person to question why he broke his oath.

"Don't you know, sweet brother?" she smiled then, cruel and cutting, and he knew that whatever she was going to say was going to be painful. " _You talk in your sleep._ "

"Do I?" he said, twisting his mouth on a smile that felt more like a grimace. Jaime leaned forward, sealing his lips to her, and Cersei smiled against his mouth and pushed him on top of her, eager for him again. Jaime pressed his hand against her cheek and moved it down to her neck, not separating their mouths, then curled his fingers around her throat and squeezed, hard. She convulsed under him, trying to throw him off, but Jaime was stronger, had always been, and didn't let up, using his bulk to press her against the bed harder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled against her mouth as her struggles weakened, her face wet with his tears. "I'm so sorry."

She stilled in the end, and he kept pressing his lips to her, still crying.

He stood from the bed a bit later, not looking back at her, and dressed in silence erasing his presence from her room before he went to the one passage that connected the Queen's chambers to his, the one they had been using for their liaisons for so many years, and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion the rest of the night.

…

Shifting the blame to Qyburn and his pet monster, the reanimated Clegane, was considerably easier than expected. He might be the stupidest Lannister, but he wasn't, in fact, stupid, he had made sure nobody saw him getting in or out of the Queen's chambers, and he had made sure a maid saw him starting to drink in his own room.

Clegane had been the one to find the Queen when he switched guard, but he had done nothing but take her naked body from the bed and cradle it in his arms. He had been found like that by a maid, who had raised the alarm before the monster snapped her neck. Jaime was sorry to have caused that death, had not accounted for it, and he would make sure to compensate the maid's family the way Lannisters had always done. It was that senseless murder what had convinced the people Clegane was to blame.

And Clegane only obeyed two people in the world.

What he hadn't counted on was the court calling for him to sit on the throne. It made sense, in a sick way. Once they had accepted Cersei as their Queen with the weakest of claims, crowning him wasn't an illogical decision. It would prevent a war for the throne, at least until the Dragon Queen came for his head.

He allowed them to put the horrid thing on his head and sit him on the throne, and his first order as King Jaime, the first of his name, was to send their fastest raven to Winterfell.

...

It was the third raven sent from King's landing in a moon's turn and Sansa wondered what dark words were in it this time. The first one had been after Jon was crowned and demanded, in no uncertain terms, that he bent the knee to the rightful King, Tommen Baratheon. She had not even bothered to keep it to show to Jon later, had just burned it; as if the North would ever submit to the rule of a Lannister bastard again.

The second one had been after the fire in Baelor's Sept and repeated the same demands, except this time they wanted the North to bow to Cersei Lannister. Sansa would sooner swear fealty to the Night King and was tempted to send a raven back with those exact words if only to imagine Cersei's face when she read it.

This raven was different, though. For one, it was addressed to Brienne of Tarth, and the penmanship on the note was really atrocious, nothing a maester would ever write.

Sansa had debated for a minute whether to read it or not; Brienne should be arriving in Winterfell any day now after her unsuccessful trip to the Riverlands, and the right thing would be to wait and give it to her. But Sansa had been burned too many times to just trust someone blindly, even if that someone had saved her in her darkest hour. And Brienne receiving a raven from King's Landing, one sealed with the Lannister crest, was enough to turn Sansa's blood to ice and remind her of all the times her trust had been misplaced.

She had to know.

_Brienne,_

_She used wildfire. I had to. And for my sins, they've given me a crown. Come take it off my head and bring whichever Stark has the sturdiest neck to hold it. Hurry, before the Dragon Queen takes it with my head still attached to it._

_Jaime._

She had to read the note three times before she finally made sense of it; Jaime Lannister was the king now. And he didn't want to be.

That the Kingslayer had killed his Queen would come of no surprise for most people, he had buried four kings now since he was sworn to the Kingsguard, the first of them killed with his own hands. Those people obviously had never seen Jamie Lannister around his sister, though, the devotion that once one knew was easy to see went beyond that of family _._ No, Sansa wouldn't put it past him to murder his Queen, he was a monster, after all, were his Queen anyone but Cersei.

_I had to_. Those were not the words of someone gloating but justifying a painful deed. Whatever Cersei had done to push him that far must have been really terrible. Sansa had lived with her long enough to know there was little she would not do out of cruelty or thirst for power. _She used wildfire._ There was a story there, one Brienne obviously knew, and Sansa had again a frisson of discomfort at the idea of her sworn sword so close to a Lannister.

It could be a ploy, another lie designed to lure her back under Lannister control, but somehow Sansa doubted it. The Kingslayer was a gifted military commander, or so everyone had said, but she could remember Tyrion saying his brother was too forward, too used to the military and war strategies, not shrewd enough to play in court where nothing was what it seemed.

Sansa turned to the Maester. "Send a raven to the King in Dragonstone, inform him I'll be going to King's Landing as soon as Lady Brienne arrives and that he should also head there as soon as he's able."

She had never imagined she'd set foot in King's Landing again, but with most Lannisters dead and Lady Brienne by her side, she would be able to.

There was nothing there to fear anymore.

…


	2. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days waiting for Brienne's arrival at King's Landing were some of the longest of Jaime's life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with the timelines here, mainly because I haven't been able to find a reliable guide telling me a timeline fo the events of the beginning of the seventh season and the travel times in Westeros. And honestly, you can't trust the show, they probably messed up worse than I do. I hope it makes sense, I've made Jon get to Dragonstone much earlier than the show and stay there for a lot less time, but because they don't tell us how long they stay in each place, I don't feel too bad about this.

The days waiting for Brienne's arrival at King's Landing were some of the longest of Jaime's life, and that was counting the year-long captivity by the Starks when each hour had dragged for ages and he'd gladly take a sword to the chest to alleviate his boredom.

He had plenty to do this time; his sweet sister had pretty much ignored what was happening in the realm outside of King's Landing in favour of her petty power games with the Tyrells, and though she had finally come on top, practically wiping out the house, it had been a monstrous move with dire consequences for her and the realm. Without the Tyrell's grain, their stores were empty and the people of King's Landing starving, angry and afraid.

Jaime had sent Bronn off to Stokeworth and Rosby to get as much food transported into King's Landing as possible, and written to his Aunt Genna in Castely Rock to inquire about the gold reserves. He knew the mines were not yielding as much as they did before, and the Lannisters' main income was from debts from other houses and the Crown, but considering how the Crown was the heir of Casterly Rock now, it felt ridiculous that he would pay a debt to himself with gold he didn't have. And he needed gold because Bronn was doing his bidding but not out of the goodness of his heart. The man was a mercenary after all.

He had also named his friend Adam Marbrand Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, much to his friend's chagrin considering he wasn't one for celibacy, and requested that he whipped it into shape; seeing what kind of people his sister had allowed into her guard it was sorely needed. He also needed to reform the Gold Cloaks, since their presence around the city was regarded with distrust by the smallfolk, as enforcers for the Crown more than peacekeepers.

There was too much to do and he didn't even want the job in the first place.

While it was true that Jaime had no desire to sit on the throne and intended to give it to a Stark as soon as he was able, that wouldn't be possible with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons already in Westeros, bidding their time and preparing to attack.

He had removed the last Targaryen from the throne with this own hands, he wasn't going to surrender it to the mad cunt's daughter, not without knowing whether she was saviour or tyrant. The reports from beyond the sea were conflicting, but she appeared to have appointed Tyrion as her Hand, and that gave Jaime hope she wasn't her father. Or maybe she was, Aerys had Tywin as Hand for many a year, and Tyrion had always been their father's son in spite of everything. Even more than Jaime himself.

After sending the raven to Winterfell he thought about what his next step should be.

He didn't know how to think like a king, but he didn't need to. Not for this. This was war, and if there was something Jaime knew was how to fight a war.

Jaime called his maester and got several letters out, raising his banners. Most of them would take at least a sennight to muster their troops and converge in Kings's Landing but the bulk of the Lannister army had come with him from the Riverlands, so he stationed them around the city while they waited for the rest to arrive. Winterfell and the Vale were not going to come; the North had declared itself an independent Kingdom and the Vale had assisted the Starks to retake Winterfell, so Jaime knew not to expect their allegiance. Not that he wanted anything from that toad Littlefinger, the man had his own plans and was unafraid to dirty his hands to further them, whatever they were. The Freys had been wiped out mysteriously, not that anyone would be sorry to see them gone, Dorne and the Iron Fleet had sworn themselves to Daenerys, at least half the Iron Fleet had. Euron Greyjoy had come to King's Landing hoping to wed Cersei in exchange for his fleet and had found Jaime in her stead. He had reluctantly bent the knee in exchange for his life and being allowed to leave King's Landing, not that Jaime trusted that man further than he could throw him. That was a problem for another day, though, as long as Euron stayed out of the fight now Jaime was satisfied. He couldn't count on the Tully army, but the Tarlys were sworn to the crown and they had a substantial army. Many minor houses from the Crownlands and Stormlands had not declared previously and would declare now, but Jaime was interested in only one of them.

What he needed was Highgarden, though, and so did Daenerys.

He penned the missive to Olenna Tyrell himself, as careful with his words as he was with his penmanship. _She paid for the Sept with her life. Fire is coming; you remember her father, we need to stop her before we all burn._ He signed with his name and knew Olenna was canny enough to read what he hadn't written on the note. He hoped for his raven to reach her before she decided to side with the Targaryens; Olenna had no love for either house, but she had a long memory and probably remembered the days of Aerys's court and the terror nobody was safe from. Without Cersei in the throne and with her family avenged, she was more likely to make a logical decision than one directed by revenge and passion.

…

Jaime was sitting in the small council room with Adam and Barren Allgood, the new Commander of the Gold Cloaks, when the messenger arrived with the first raven.

He opened it and scanned it quickly; house Buckler pledged his fealty to the crown and offered to send two hundred men. He gave the note to Allgod. "Set the Bucklers on the walls when they arrive. I'll send at least a few more of the pledged soldiers to you as they arrive."

Allgood nodded and took his leave, dismissed, and Jaime wanted to drop his head on top of the table, exhausted.

"If I may speak freely, Your Grace," Adam said, his tone and eyes serious.

"Please Adam, I need someone to speak plainly after so many lickspittles." He had a headache, had had a headache since they put that damned crown on his head. He hadn't been able to sleep either, seeing Cersei's face as she struggled for breath in his mind every time he closed his eyes. It was going to take time for that image to go if it ever did.

"You look terrible, when was the last time you slept?"

Jaime laughed mirthlessly. "When did we arrive at King's Landing?"

"You need to rest," Adam insisted. "You'll be no good to anyone if you die. We've run out of Lannisters to crown, we'd need to look for another house." He tried to inject some humour to his words but both of them could tell he was utterly serious.

"I'll rest when I sort out this mess," he said signalling with his golden hand the expanse surrounding them, and he wasn't even exaggerating, everything was a mess he had little hope to sort on his own. He needed Brienne. "Have we heard anything from Winterfell?"

"No, no word. Were you expecting differently? The Starks have no love for the Crown."

Jaime sighed. "Not the Starks." He had not mentioned Brienne to anyone, not since the Riverlands, but he had been with Adam when she had been brought to him there, and his friend would not have missed the way Jaime had dismissed everyone to talk to her, or how she had gained access to the castle when nobody else did. " _Brienne of Tarth_."

Adam gave him a considering look. "The huge woman in armour you let into Riverrun? She's a Stark loyalist?"

"She's Lady Sansa's sworn sword," he admitted and was gearing up to tell his friend more when there was another knock on the door. "Enter."

"Your Grace," the messenger began and Jaime saw another figure behind him, one that was tall and broad enough to make him straighten up. But it couldn't be, even by the fastest ship, there was no way it was her. "The Evenstar, Lord Selwyn Tarth."

The man that entered the room was unmistakably Brienne's father; he was as tall and broad as she was, with the tanned and lined skin of an islander who spends considerable amounts of time outside or sailing. He was wearing a doublet with his house's sigil and a pink and blue quartered cloak. Jaime wondered for an instant how those colours would look on Brienne, or if she would look better in crimson, and then pushed the thought aside and looked into Selwyn's eyes. They were the same blue as Brienne's, so clear and beautiful, and Jaime could have got lost in them except they were staring at him in confusion.

"Your Grace," Selwyn Tarth said, bowing and breaking eye contact.

Jaime flushed slightly and felt Adam's eyes on the side of his head. He stood from the chair. "Lord Tarth, I thank you for coming so quickly."

Selwyn extracted a scroll from within the folds of his clothes. Jaime didn't need to read it to know what it said, it was the only one he had written personally except for the one to Olenna.

_Lord Selwyn Tarth,_

_I have the privilege to call your daughter a close friend and I have asked for her presence in King's Landing in this tumultuous times, I know she would love to see her father after so many years of separation. It would be my honour if you would attend to court as my guest._

_Jaime Lannister._

"One can't refuse an invitation from the Crown," Selwyn said, his voice measured yet curious. "Especially not when you mention my daughter will be joining us soon. Last I heard she was in Winterfell, and the Starks have not declared for the Crown."

The man was sharper than he looked, Jaime liked that. This was the man who had raised Brienne of Tarth, who had allowed her to fight with swords when needlepoint had proven not to be her skill. The man who had let her wear breeches instead of gowns, and had allowed her to go to war. He was also the man who had imbued her with her unshakeable honour. Just for that, Jaime respected the man more than most other men he had known for years.

"I hope she will arrive soon." He gestured to the empty chair next to him. "Please join me."

Selwyn sat down and took the goblet one of the servants offered him. "I was very curious when I got your raven, how did my daughter come to be a close friend of the Lannisters?" he began, and Jaime was about to correct him. She wasn't a friend of the Lannisters; Cersei would have killed her if only she knew the extent of Jaime's regard, and Tywin would have probably married them on the spot if he'd know there was a woman Jaime could stand besides his twin. "My daughter has occasionally written to me, but has rarely spoken about you." That stung, though Jaime knew it shouldn't. Brienne wouldn't have mentioned most of their time together to her father to keep him from worrying, and after they said goodbye, she wouldn't have had anything about him to tell.

And yet, it irked him.

"Well, Lord Selwyn," he said, filling his own goblet of wine. "Your daughter was tasked with escorting me back from Riverrun to King's Landing when I was a _guest_ of the Starks and she had just sworn herself to Lady Catelyn Stark after Renlys's death." he smiled sharply, remembering those days. "As you can imagine, she was overjoyed to herd the Kingslayer south, almost as much as I was to be dragged around by a huge woman wearing armour."

The good times, when they would have gutted each other gladly given half a chance. He had called her many other things, and none as benign as huge. He didn't think those things anymore, though Brienne had not become any prettier, and yet he was hard-pressed to remember the time when he thought her the ugliest maid in Westeros.

" _Oh, but we hated each other,_ " he said, and he could hear the wistfulness and longing in his voice. Sometimes he still longed for simpler times like then, when he only loved one woman and he knew what he felt around Brienne. He turned to Adam, "you can sit and get your own goblet, you were asking about her right before. You might as well hear it from me."

He spoke, telling all those stories he had not been able to tell before, not seeing the smile on his face while he did.

…

Olenna arrived two days later, and like the Queen of Thorns that she was, didn't bother with pleasantries or formalities. One of the advantages of her old age and having survived almost everyone in her family: she didn't fear death and didn't offer respect not earned.

Jaime sat with her in the council room, the two of them alone with a carafe of Arbor Gold on the table.

"Did she die screaming?" she asked, filling their glasses.

Jaime saw Cersei's face again as he choked her, how her lips were turning blue and her eyes red, the fear in her eyes and her weak attempts to push him off her. He took a big gulp of wine to dispel the image and choke down the nausea. "No, she didn't have the breath to scream."

"They said it was her monster who killed her," Olenna challenged him, daring Jaime to admit to his crime and give her an advantage. But they were alone, and he was already crowned, there wasn't much she could do with the truth but enjoy it.

"In a sense it was, _I am the monster she created_."

She nodded, satisfied, and took another drink from her goblet. "I didn't think you'd ever get yourself disentangled from her, I believed she would control you forever and cost you your life like the sickness she was."

She almost had, all his life Jaime had believed he would die in Cersei's arms, both of them leaving the world the same way they had entered, together. He had also believed she loved him and their children above everything, but he had been wrong about that too.

"I did as well."

"I find it ironic, she died being strangled the same way her son did," Olenna looked at him then, her expression shrewd, and he knew that whatever she was about to say was the real test. "The only thing I regret is she never knew it was me."

He should have felt those words like a punch to the gut, but he didn't. He felt his fury spike, but just for an instant, and then the hollowness of having lost all his children and the pain from the past days all blurred together. He had known it wasn't Tyrion, and some part of him wasn't surprised to find it was Olenna. He wouldn't have wanted his granddaughter married to Joffrey either, he had been a monster mourned by few. Not even his father, as it had turned out.

"I should kill you," he finally said when he had control of his temper.

"Yes, you should," Olenna admitted with a nod, her mouth finally curling into a smile. She knew she had won. "But you won't, because you need Highgaden's food for the city and my soldiers against the Dragon Queen, and you know I wouldn't have come here without making sure you'd get none of that if I die. So now, tell me, who's sitting in your council, because you need a council. I know that tightass Tarly arrived yesterday, and he's probably invited on account of the number of troops he has. Who else?"

And Jaime couldn't help but respect the canny old woman, and let himself relax a bit. "Adam Marbrand is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and holds a place in the council, I'm expecting an Archmaester to be sent from the Citadel and a High Septon to arrive from wherever the Faith keeps them," he looked at her. "And I hope you will take a place as well."

She appeared surprised as that. "A woman, in the council?"

Jaime nodded. "Not the only one if I have my way."

"And who will be your hand? You haven't sent for Lord Baelish and I hope you know better than to give a position to your sellsword friend."

Jaime had thought about it, and while he knew Bronn wasn't cut for court and council, there was one position he was uniquely suited to fill.

"In fact, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is the new Master if Whispers, if only for his intimate knowledge of the realm's brothels." Olenna chucked at that, and Jaime smiled back at her. "And I'm thinking of offering the position of Hand of the King to The Evenstar."

They had spent more time together after the first conversation, and Jaime liked the man. He always thought before speaking, had the same sense of justice than his daughter, and wasn't cowed by the crown on Jaime's head. He would be perfect for the position.

She looked sharply at him and then nodded approvingly. "He's a very level headed man, unlikely to the blinded by power or fear. There is hope for you yet, your Grace." Then she smiled, amused, her eyes knowing. "And of course, he's Brienne of Tarth's father, quite an extraordinary woman that one."

And Jaime could only agree with her and hope Brienne would make it to the capital soon.

…

Tyrion had been certain Olenna Tyrell would join forces against Cersei, especially after the Sept of Baelor had been blown up with the future of her house inside. They had arranged the meeting with the Dornish princesses and the Queen of Thorns, convinced they would all jump at the chance to take revenge against Cersei. Ellaria Sand had, Olenna had not attended, though. The news had travelled too slow for them since they left Mereen and arrived in Dragonstone; his sweet sister was dead, killed by her own monster. Some rumours said killed by her brother-lover, but whoever said that didn't know how much Jaime was in thrall with her.

Jaime was the King now; as if Daenerys needed more reasons to hate the man who killed her father.

She had wanted to fly to King's Landing immediately upon knowing he had been crowned, a fury the likes Tyrion had rarely seen in her eyes. It had taken both him and Varys all their skill to talk her off that ledge, to convince her that burning a city to the ground to get to one man inside would not make her anything but Queen of the Ashes. They needed to plan and position their troops, and they needed allies. Dorne was but one of the Kingdoms and they only had part of the Iron Fleet. They didn't need to attack King's Landing; they needed to take some strategic places around the map and then turn their armies against Jaime's, but if they unleashed the Unsullied, Dothraki and dragons on the Seven Kingdoms Daenerys was more likely to be called a conqueror and a tyrant than a liberator.

That had cooled her slightly.

And then Jon Snow had arrived, with his tales of the others and his refusal to bend the knee, the attraction between the two of them obvious enough. He'd talked about the army of the dead on the other side of the Wall, and how they needed the dragonglass buried deep into Dragonstone, but refused to bend the knee to get it. Tyrion could see the respect mixed with annoyance and disbelief in Daenery's eyes and had spoken on Jon's behalf. Yes, it all sounded too fantastical and ridiculous, but so had Dragons until Daenerys herself had birthed hers. Tyrion had known Jon before and knew that imagination was not one of the man's qualities.

She had allowed them access to the caves to mine the dragonglass, and there they had found the paintings that had begun to convince her.

Later, Tyrion would blame himself for it.

"You could fly over the Wall with Drogon and make sure he's not lying to you," Tyrion had said to her when he saw her wavering. "It will be just a couple of days on the back of a Dragon, and if there is such a huge army of the dead, you will see it."

And they had, they had seen it.

They had taken the three dragons, Jon riding Rhaegal and Daenerys on Drogon, Viserion flying around them. In the meantime, they had kept on mining the dragonglass. There had been a raven from Winterfell for Jon, which Tyrion had given to Davos, and then they were back.

Daenerys looked shaken and pale, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin deathly pale. She dismounted Drogon and Jon dismounted Rhaegal and they rushed to each other in an embrace that looked painful. Tyrion was scanning the skies wondering why it was taking Viserion so long to land when he heard her sobs and understood the impossible had happened.

"We need to speak to your brother," Jon said, still holding tightly onto Daenerys. "It's much worse than we expected, we're going to need all the help we can get. Do you think we can convince him to help?"

"Maybe," Tyrion admitted because he would have been able before he killed Tywin, but now he wasn't sure what to expect. "I'll send a raven to King's Landing and arrange a parley."

…


	3. The way south

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne felt a deep sense of relief when she arrived at Winterfell.

Brienne felt a deep sense of relief when she arrived at Winterfell.

She had failed her mission to get the Tully troops to help her Lady retake her house, even with Jaime's help, but in the end, the Starks had prevailed and Winterfell flew the Direwolf banner once again. She had also heard rumours of Ramsay Bolton's fate, she could think of no better revenge for her Lady after what that monster had done to her.

She was still happy she had gone to Riverrun, exhausted as she was after so many days on horseback; she had been able to see Jaime and tell him she had restored his honour, just for that it had been worth the saddle sores and uncomfortable nights sleeping in the open, and Pod knowing eyes as they rowed away from the castle, his figure watching them in the distance.

She put her hand on the pommel of Oathkeeper and bit down on a smile. _It was hers_ , Jaime had always intended the sword to be a gift, like the armour. His face when she had tried to return it, amused and chiding and fond, had been seared in the inside of her lids for her to relive every time she closed her eyes. Nobody had ever looked at her that way, not with that softness. Not her.

"Lady Brienne," she was greeted by one of the guards at the gates. "Lady Sansa is waiting for you in her rooms, please attend to her at once."

Brienne nodded and dismounted immediately, giving the reins to Pod. "Take them to the stables and get them fed and brushed, then take our things to whatever chambers we've been assigned."

She headed inside without waiting for a reply and straight into Sansa's rooms.

Sansa was sitting at her writing desk, sanding a scroll while the maester waited for her. She rolled it and sealed it and gave it to him before turning her attention to Brienne.

"Lady Brienne, I hope you had an easy way back from the Riverlands?" She asked courteously.

"We did, my Lady, though I'm sorry we couldn't convince your uncle to help."

"Nevermind that, we won in the end." She handed her a scroll. "You received this from the capital yesterday."

Her first thought was that something had happened to her father, but then she noticed the Lannister crest on the seal. The seal was broken, not that she cared if her Lady read it, but it made her curious as to the contents of the scroll. She could feel Sansa's eyes intent on her face while she read it.

She recognized Jaime's script immediately, wondering why would he send her a raven. Then she read the contents and her heart broke for him. " _Oh Gods, Jaime_ ," she whispered, reading the note again.

She lifted her head to stare at Lady Sansa, unable to say anything, her only thoughts for Jaime. He had committed the ultimate crime, Kinslaying, and more than that, he had killed his sister. The one woman he had loved his entire life.

Brienne couldn't imagine how he must be feeling, but he had asked her to go to King's Landing. "Lady Sansa?"

"We're going as soon as you've had some rest," Sansa replied, and Brienne sagged in relief. She didn't know what she'd do if her Lady had refused to let her go; she had sworn herself to Lady Sansa and would go wherever her Lady needed her, but Brienne knew it would kill her to refuse Jaime's request for help.

"I don't need rest," Brienne protested, the exhaustion that had dogged her on the last days of her trip completely vanished now.

"Yes, you do Lady Brienne," Sansa insisted, adamant. "Go lay down for an hour and have some food. We ride for White Harbour this afternoon."

"Yes, milady." she turned and headed to the door, then stopped. "What happened in King's Landing?"

"The Sept of Baelor was blown up during the Queen's trial, most of the faith and the court perished in the explosion. King Tommen took his own life in his grief for his wife passing and Cersei Lannister was crowned Queen."

Tommen, his last living son. "Was the explosion tinted green?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"It was, wildfire as you can guess," Sansa fixed her with her unwavering stare. "There's a story there."

Brienne nodded. "Not mine to tell."

"I realized when we got the raven that you appear to know the Kingslayer," she flinched at the name and the venom in Sansa's voice. "better than anyone would have imagined, and you're also carrying a very Lannister sword." Brienne couldn't blame her for the distrust, not after all she had suffered, but she had no way to prove her intentions were honourable.

"I know you have no reason to trust Ser Jaime," she began, and Sansa's eyebrows arched up her face. "But he's an honourable man. He's the one who sent me after you because he promised your mother, we both did, so once we made it to King's Landing he started looking for a way to get you out. When you disappeared, he armed me, armoured me and sent me off to find you. Without him, you wouldn't be here."

Sansa stared for a moment with pursed lips and then turned around. "I haven't shown that note to anyone but you; it amounts to a confession, but he also offers to renounce his crown. If you trust him, then I won't."

"I do." As if Jaime would want that weight on his shoulders. No, he was a Knight, he had always wanted to be a Knight for what he told her, not a King.

"I'll have the story of how you know him so well on the way to King's Landing," Sansa said, relentless and Brienne nodded. "Now get that rest, we depart in an hour's time."

Knowing she was dismissed, Brienne left Sansa's rooms and went to lay down for an hour, her head spinning with everything that had happened.

…

"It was your mother who tasked me with bringing Ser Jaime to his family in exchange for her daughter's freedom," Brienne began her tale. They were in her cabin in the ship, sailing to King's Landing, and had nothing to do but talk until they arrived. Brienne knew her ships, being an islander, so they had boarded the fastest one available. It would still be a sennight or more until they reached the capital if the wind held. "He was a nightmare at the time."

He had been so insulting, so arrogant, convinced he could best her if given a chance. He had taken every chance to try and get a reaction of her, been crude and excruciatingly, cruelly honest, showing an uncanny talent to wield the truth with a sharpness to rival any sword. Brienne was sure that he would have not hesitated to kill her if he had got his hands on her sword. He had tried as soon as he did, and she could still remember how her blood had sung crossing swords with him, the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms.

"We were captured together by the Bloody Mummers, a group of sellswords under the command of Lord Bolton." Sansa narrowed her eyes at the name, but didn't flinch, not anymore. "On the first night, they took me away--"

She choked on the words, the feelings of helplessness and terror rising inside of her. She still dreamed of it, these many years past, of her futile struggles while the men leered, and the certainty they were going to do something worse than killing her. She had screamed, unable to break free from so many hands, wishing they would just slit her throat, while they were removing her armour. And then Jaime's voice, shouting _Sapphires_ , and the blessed relief when the men stopped touching her.

Relief that lasted until his screams started.

"He saved me when they tried to force themselves on me," she resumed, knowing that words were insufficient to truly explain the shift that had happened that night. "And they cut off his sword hand for it."

Sansa's expression warmed slightly. If there was someone who could understand what that meant, it was her. Her own unlikely saviour had not prevented that fate, too broken himself to face their torturer in that way, but Sansa knew what it meant that Brienne was spared that pain.

"After that, we were taken to Lord Bolton in Harrenhal. We didn't know at the time he had already sold his allegiance to Tywin Lannister." She didn't mention the little cruelties the Mummers had enjoyed during that trip; the taunts, the jeers and insults, hanging Jaime's hand around his neck and forcing them to ride together. She could still remember the smell of rot and shit and death that clung to him, and how he tried to die, quietly withdrawing inside of himself to wait for the end.

And then the conversation in the bathtub, the first time she saw him as a deeply flawed person, but a good one deep down, instead of the monster she had believed him up to that point.

"Lord Bolton sent Ser Jaime off to his father from Harrenhal, me he gave to the Mummers to ransom to my father, but the amount offered wasn't enough for them since the only sapphires in Tarth are the waters, so they decided to keep me as entertainment." The horror in Sansa's face was easy to read, all sorts of scenarios playing in her head; she had known the Boltons well, after all. "Locke was a particularly cruel man with a twisted sense of humour; he gave me a wooden sword and threw me in a bear pit. I was convinced I would die right there, mauled by an angry beast. The first swipe of its claws almost ripped my throat, but I still keep fighting it. And then, out of nowhere, Ser Jaime jumped in front of me, unarmed and with only one hand, and put himself between the bear and I. To date, it's the bravest and most stupid thing I've ever seen anyone do." She couldn't help the fondness of her voice and her eyes, remembering the moment he helped her climb out of the pit and how he took her later with him, refusing to leave her behind again.

"Does he know you're in love with him?" Sansa's voice snapped her out of her recollection, and Brienne blushed to the roots of her hair, her entire body flushing in mortification.

Lady Sansa wasn't wrong, though. She was in love with him, had been for years, doomed as it was to be unrequited.

And she wasn't going to lie about it.

"No, he doesn't know." What would be the point in him knowing? Jaime was faithful, had been faithful to his sister, and much as he might respect Brienne, deep as their friendship went, he had never gone back on the first things he ever called her, an ugly beast. "Ser Jaime has only loved one woman in his life, one much prettier than I am."

Sansa's eyes were knowing. "And yet she's dead, and he's asking for your presence by his side."

…

Brienne didn't know what to expect when she arrived at King's Landing, but it definitely wasn't the harbour bursting with ships, warships and transports alike, nor several armies decamped around the city.

She shared a look with Sansa, who was also looking around herself in alarm, probably wondering at the fact that they had come alone and the city was practically besieged with soldiers flying different banners.

"Those are Tyrell and Tarly soldiers," Sansa said in a low whisper as they made their way towards the Red Keep. "And the Lannister army is here as well."

She was probably regretting leaving the Northern and the Vale's armies behind. She hadn't wanted to tell Lord Baelish about their trip, proof that Lady Sansa had finally learned not to trust him after he sold her to the Boltons, but having Brienne as her only protection among so many enemies was probably making her feel exposed.

"Everything will be alright, Lady Sansa," Brienne tried to reassure her, though she also placed her hand firmly on the pommel of Oathkeeper, drawing attention to the lion-shaped gold and rubies pommel for everyone to see. "Ser Jaime is expecting us."

"You place a lot of faith in a famous Oathbreaker," Sansa countered sharply, her fear making her harsher than usual.

Brienne wanted to defend Jaime and her decisions, but she knew better. "Yes, I do," she admitted, and they made the rest of the way to the Red Keep in silence.

They were stopped at the entrance by one of the guards, and Brienne drew herself as tall as she was, towering over the man. "Lady Sansa Stark and Lady Brienne of Tarth," she announced and saw the guard widen his eyes in recognition.

"His Grace is waiting for you in the small council room," the guard said, stepping aside and signalling to one of the servants bustling around the Keep. "Take the Ladies immediately to the council room."

She didn't know what she thought she would find there, but it definitely wasn't a full council, or almost full. At the head of the table sat Jaime, a thin circlet of gold on his short hair, a red leather jerkin and the crimson Lannister cloak draped over his shoulder. He looked regal. He also looked exhausted and gaunt, deep shadows under his eyes and his skin too pale, stretched over his cheekbones. Sitting around the table was Olenna Tyrell, dressed completely in mourning black, and looking as fierce as Brienne remembered her and Randyll Tarly, with his disagreeable expression which curled even more when he saw Brienne entering the room. A man she didn't know but remembered seeing around in Riverrun was now wearing a White Cloak and sitting on another chair. And at the end of the table a face she hadn't seen in too many years, and which brought tears to her eyes.

" _Lady Brienne_ ," Jaime said, his voice slightly breathless, and scrambled to his feet the moment she entered the room, forgetting the King ought to stand for no man or woman. Next to her Sansa's brows flew up her forehead, shooting Brienne a look. "Lady Sansa," he added, with a light node and a much formal tone. "My gratitude for coming so quickly from Winterfell, I was waiting for you." He gestured to the empty seat on the table, and Sansa moved to the one closest but Brienne was rooted to the spot, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Your Grace," Brienne said, not sure what she was feeling or how to address Jaime now. But that wasn't the important part.

"Brienne," the fourth man stood, and she could see he was still as tall and tanned as she remembered, though his head was crowned white now instead of blonde, he was still as sturdy looking, with clear and kind eyes. He opened his arms and she rushed to him, uncaring of the people staring at her, and fell into his embrace.

" _Father_."

…

Sansa stared at the council room with narrowed eyes. This didn't look like the council of a man ready to abdicate the throne, this looked like the council of a man about to go to war. And the presence of all those soldiers outside only cemented that feeling.

She was scared she had made a terrible mistake coming to King's Landing, that she was going to be used against her family once again by Lannisters. She wasn't going to go quietly, if thatwas the case, not this time.

Then Jaime Lannister, the first of his name, scrambled to his feet like a green squire in the presence of his lady the moment Brienne crossed the door, the look in his eyes one she imagined a man dying of thirst would have when given a skin of water. Brienne flushed, embarrassed by the attention but oblivious to its meaning.

She wondered how Lady Brienne didn't see it if he always looked at her this way, every other person in the room could see it loud and clear. She wondered whether Jaime himself was aware of his feelings. And then Brienne saw her father and embraced him tightly, her voice choked with tears while Jaime looked at them with a soft smile and Sansa realized it didn't matter.

This man, this monster who had played such a part in destroying her family, had gone out of his way to bring Brienne and her father together, and she could almost see the chivalrous Knight Brienne believed him to be. She still wasn't sold that he was a good man, but Sansa was certain of one thing, the Kingslayer wasn't going to betray her. Not if that meant losing Brienne's regard.

Sansa didn't know if he was aware he hadn't even looked at his sister that way.

...


	4. The Hand of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council was dismissed almost immediately after Brienne sat next to her father, still unable to believe he was really there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I'm frankly amazed by the response this fic has got. Thanks, everyone so much for your kind and encouraging words.

The council was dismissed almost immediately after Brienne sat next to her father, still unable to believe he was really there. She had seen him last on the harbour in Tarth when she departed to join Renly. He'd been reluctant to see her go, no because she was a woman, but because no father wanted to see their heir march to war. She had written to him after Harrenhal to reassure him no harm had come to her when his ransom had been refused, but she had never mentioned how she ended up there or who she was escorting. She couldn't believe Jaime had invited her father into his council.

Olenna Tyrell stood up from her chair with a last look at Brienne and then Jaime, a smirk on her face as she said her goodbyes, claiming old age and a bad hip so she needed her rest. Randyll Tarly left with a glare, but he was at least smart enough not to say anything.

"Ser Adam, can you find someone to take Lady Sansa to her rooms? I would ask you to stand guard outside afterwards," Jaime said, and Brienne stood at the same time Sansa did to accompany her. "Lady Brienne," he stopped her with a pleading look. "If you could stay for a moment?"

Sansa gave her a nod and turned to her father. "Would you walk me to my rooms, Lord Selwyn? I would be honoured to know the father of the woman who saved my life."

He nodded with a soft smile, and Brienne could already tell he was going to adore Sansa. "It will be my pleasure, Lady Sansa." He gave a quick hug to Brienne as if they hadn't had enough before. "I'll find you later, Brienne, we have much to talk about."

And then she was alone with Jaime.

She felt silly for being nervous now in his presence, she had no issues finding him in Riverrun and asking to speak to him. They had been alone in his tent then, she remembered, and they had the same banter and easy conversation as always. But he had not been King yet; he had just been Jaime Lannister, the man she considered a friend.

Jaime looked different than the man she had seen in the Riverlands; that man had been exasperating and proud, the way she remembered him, but also gentle with her and fond, even as he insulted her. That man had looked settled in his own skin, armoured in crimson and gold and leading an army. This Jaime looked like he had not slept in a week, his eyes dull and filled with pain. He was wearing the best finery, and yet he looked ill at ease as if the crown on his head weighted a ton and made him hunch his shoulders.

"Lady Brienne," he said, signalling for her to take the chair next to his and they both sat down. "Thanks for attending me in King's Landing, I know it was a long distance to travel. I hope you had a pleasant trip."

He had fallen back on his courtesies, something he only did when extremely uncomfortable or when he was trying to get a rise out of her. Brienne was surprised to realize she wasn't the only one feeling decidedly out of her element.

"Your Grace," she began, unsure of what she wanted to say but needing to speak, and that seemed to snap him out of it.

" _Don't_ , I'm sick to my stomach of _My Bloody Grace,_ " he said, voice dripping with bitterness.

"Jaime," she called him in the next breath, and he sagged against the back on his chair like a puppet with his strings cut, closing his eyes for an instant. He really looked tired. "Why am I here? I've heard people say it was Clegane, but your raven--what really happened?"

"She was too far gone, her thirst for power too great," he began, eyes still closed. There was a furrow in his brow that spoke of his pain, and she wanted to smooth it with her fingers until it disappeared. "She didn't send me to Riverrun to retake the castle because nobody else could, she sent me away because I would have stopped her blowing up the Sept, and she knew it."

"Did she confess that to you?" Brienne asked, not that she would have been surprised, Cersei had delighted in her little cruelties for what Sansa had confided her.

"She didn't need to." He finally opened his eyes, the look on them haunted and far away. "I saw her coronation and I knew what she'd done and what I had to do, and yet she convinced me her grief for our son was heartfelt. I almost believed it was an accident and I--" he turned his eyes on Brienne and didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to be a seer to know what had happened, that Jaime had bedded her, probably relieved he didn't need to kill the woman he loved. It bothered her more than it should; she had no right to be jealous of her. "She did confess to the Sept, though, afterwards. She made it seem it had been my fault for getting captured by the Starks that she had needed to fuck our cousin so he could kill King Robert for her." His face twisted in disgust. "She wouldn't have needed Cousin Lancel had she her Kingslayer by her side, what difference does it make killing another King when you've already killed one? And the worst of it, it really was my fault in the end. I had never told her about the wildfire, I never trusted her with that information, but she didn't need me to because I talk in my bloody sleep. Did you know that, Brienne? _I talk in my sleep_."

He was rambling, his words making too much sense and too little at the same time. It wasn't just the exhaustion too palpable in him; he hadn't been able to grieve, for his dead son and his dead sister and lover, hadn't been able to come to terms with everything he'd done.

"Enough, Jaime, you don't need to tell me more, you need to sleep."

" _I can't._ " Brienne saw the past few days clearly in those two words, how he would have been haunted by his ghosts at night, the nightmares and the weight of the responsibilities piled upon him. No wonder he looked half dead. She came to a decision.

She stood from her chair and he looked up at her, his face creasing in a frown when she approached his chair and tugged on his arm to make him stand. "Up with you, you're going to bed." It was still light out, but she wasn't going to give him a choice.

He stood up next to her, and she felt their proximity like a warmth spreading inside of her. "You can't order me around, Lady Brienne, _I'm your King._ " He sounded like a child being ordered to bed, and much for the same reasons, his words dragging and slow. Her lips curled up.

"No, you're not, I'm sworn to the North. Jon Snow is my King," she said just to get a rise out of him and that elicited a chuckle from him. She could bet it was the first time he laughed since the Riverlands.

"Gods, I've missed you. You're still as stubborn as I remember." It didn't sound like an insult this time. "Where are you taking me?" he asked, letting her drag him out of the council chamber.

"Your rooms."

"You can't, it's not appropriate for an unmarried highborn lady to be alone with a man in his rooms, even the King. Get a servant or a Kingsguard."

She bit down the urge to laugh. There were too many non-appropriate things they had done together to count, accompanying him to his rooms to make sure he slept didn't even register. "I have seen you naked and wiped filth from your body, Jaime, and my honour is intact. I'm not worried about taking you to your rooms when you're almost too tired to stand."

"Maybe you should be," he mumbled, his eyes at half-mast, and she ignored that. As if he would have designs on her honour.

Nobody stopped her entering the King's chambers with him, though the White Cloak stationed by the door gave her an odd look. An armoured woman almost holding the King upright and coming into his room, unchaperoned. The sword at her hip marked her a friend to the Crown, with the Lannister gold and rubies, and she was certain word had been spread around the Kingsguard of her friendship with the King.

She dismissed the maid inside and manoeuvred an almost insensate Jaime around, divesting him of his outer garments and his golden hand, and pushing him into the bed. He clamped his good hand around Brienne's wrist. "Thank you for coming, now that you're here, I can rest," he mumbled, and then he was out like a light.

She smiled down at him and dared pluck the crown from his hair, running her fingers through the golden locks, strands of silver beginning to show here and there. "Sleep, you idiot, we'll talk in the morning."

She stood and left the crown on the table on her way out.

…

She had been given rooms next to her father and Lady Sansa, and after she had changed from her armour and freshened up after the long trip, she went to his rooms and knocked on the door.

Selwyn Tarth opened almost immediately as if he had been just waiting for her to get back and come looking for him.

"My darling Brienne," he said, taking one of her hands and leading her to the small dining table there. "It's such a pleasure to see you, I have missed you."

The rooms assigned to her father were big and lavishly decorated, almost gaudy, the kind of rooms you would offer to an honoured guest of one of the main houses, not the Evenstar, who though respected by those who knew him, wasn't of political import.

"Father, I have missed you as well." They sat down and Brienne saw the food spread before her on the table. She fell on it like a starving woman, suddenly realizing she hadn't eaten anything since she broke her fast in the ship and it was getting close to the evening.

"It's quite an extraordinary woman you have sworn yourself to, your Lady Sansa," he began, and Brienne smiled at him around her mouthful of bread and meats. She knew they would get along well. "She's as strong as she's kind, and she respects and trusts you. I'm proud of you my darling."

She flushed, and if she wasn't eating, she would stand and throw herself at her father so he could cradle her in his arms. He was the only man who had ever made her feel protected that way, who was big enough and kind enough to embrace but not hurt.

"Though I am more surprised that you made a friend of a Lannister, of the Lion of Lannister at that," Brienne was grateful that her father didn't call him Kingslayer. "He speaks very highly of you."

"We've been through a lot together," she said, cautiously. She didn't know which of their tales Jaime had confided in her father, most of them were not the heartwarming kind.

"So it seems," Selwyn said with a knowing look. "The King has told me of your travels through the Riverlands and how you saved his life many a time."

"He saved mine as well." He had also saved her honour, though she'd much rather her father didn't know about that or how close it had been.

"Yes, he mentioned, something surprising when you were her captor at the time," he continued, filling a goblet of wine for Brienne and another for himself. "A man of his reputation, I wouldn't have expected that."

"He's not what most people think," she defended him automatically and then flushed. Her father smiled at her, amused.

"I have noticed, I've had time to spend with him these past days while he worked things around here. I was surprised to get his invite to court, and once here I was surprised to be given these rooms," he gestured around them, pointing out what she had noticed before, the rooms were for someone beyond their station. "I was also surprised to hear him speak of you with the fondness and respect you deserve, and I know all the time he's given me and the honour he's bestowed on me, it's all for you."

"You deserve it, father," she protested because her father deserved all the honours in the world.

"He didn't know me." He was right, of course, but that just made her feel uncomfortably exposed, hopeful that Jaime's regard went beyond what she knew it did. She took a drink from her goblet to hide her expression for a moment.

"My darling, he's asked me to be his hand," he said, and Brienne almost choked on her drink, turning shocked eyes on him. Oh, Jaime. "After seeing you two today, I'm more surprised he didn't ask me for yours."

This time, she did choke.

…

Brienne broke her fast with Lady Sansa in the morning, still feeling like she could sleep for a sennight after the long days of travel and the sleepless night she had, her father's words repeating over and over in her head.

She knew she was being silly, that she was torturing herself and setting herself up for heartbreak for entertaining her father's fancy. She had tried to explain it to him: her relationship with Jaime was based on mutual respect, they had been through too many things together for anything else. But he saw her as a trusted friend and comrade, not as a woman. Jaime wasn't attracted to her, and he definitely wasn't in love with her.

Her final argument to convince her father, the fact that Jaime had been in love with his sister his entire life, was not one she could say out loud. But she knew it well enough.

And yet, her silly heart insisted in pumping faster the entire night, her mind insisted on showing her their interactions in a different light.

It was foolishness.

They were called to the council room once they had finished, and there was Jaime, looking a little less like he was going to die, Selwyn was there, the Hand brooch already pinned to his front, and Ser Adam again standing guard next to the King. Jaime stood again when they entered the room, and Brienne's traitorous heart gave a loud thump against her chest.

"Lady Brienne, Lady Sansa, thanks for joining me today. I expect you got a good rest last night."

"We did, your Grace," Sansa said with bland courtesy and cold eyes.

"And your Grace?" Brienne asked in the ensuing silence.

"I did, and you have my thanks, Lady Brienne, for taking me to bed," he said deliberately salacious, some of his old spark back in his eyes. Brienne flushed crimson and glared at him, and Jaime smirked, taking his seat at the head of the table. He turned to Sansa then, the smirk falling from his face. "Lady Sansa, I'm sure you have been wondering about my intentions. As you know I have a reputation for breaking my oaths, and I know what you have suffered at the hands of my house."

Sansa stared at him, her eyes unafraid but Brienne could see her hands curled into fists under the table. "I learned from your sister, your Grace."

Jaime sighed. "I hope you are a better person than she was if you're going to receive this crown." She appeared shocked at that, that Jaime would so publicly announce his intention to abdicate on her. "I don't want a crown, I never have. I could have taken it from Aerys's head before Ned Stark got to the throne room, and I could have killed anyone who challenged me for it if I had wanted it. I was the best swordsman in the Kingdom by then, after your father had killed Ser Arthur Dayne. You're welcome to this crown and to the thrice-damned chair that goes with it, and the only thing I ask is to keep my ancestral home as the heir of Casterly Rock."

"Why the war council then? Why if you're not intending to stay in power?"

It was a good question, one that Brienne wanted the answer to as well.

"I'm not unless the alternative is a Targaryen." Jaime fixed Sansa with a serious look. "I broke a sacred oath to remove a mad Targaryen from the throne, I'm not giving it to another one." He took a deep breath and produced a scroll. "Your brother, Lady Sansa, is currently with Daenerys Targaryen and has requested a parley with the Crown. So is my brother, your ex-husband. This is what we were discussing yesterday when you arrived. We have agreed and they will arrive tomorrow. You are welcome to attend and sit with them if so you choose."

Sansa nodded, her entire demeanour had warmed considerably since they entered the room. Something that Jaime had said or done had convinced Sansa that he was telling the truth.

"My brother will probably ask for help to fight the threat coming from the North, that's the reason he went to Daenerys. And that crown, your Grace, will be for him."

Jaime and Adam shared a look. "A threat from the North?"

"Do you believe in old folk tales, your Grace?"

…

Walking into the Dragon Pit with the rest of Daenerys entourage and advisors felt very strange for Tyrion, especially because of the lack of hostility coming from the Gold Cloaks walking alongside them.

It had been very strange as well to sail into the port in King's Landing and see the full display of power Jaime was exhibiting. And it was a full display; the harbour was bustling with ships flying different banners from the Stormlands and the Westerlands, the city was crawling with soldiers from everywhere in Westeros, the rose of Tyrell very obvious among them. Tyrion and Varys had exchanged a look at that, it wasn't possible that Olenna Tyrell had sided with the Lannisters, it just wasn't. For what they were seeing, this was not the weak ruler they had expected, not the loathed one Cersei had been. Jaime's armies were equal to Daenerys's in numbers at least, if not superior, and Jaime himself was a far more gifted military commander than Tyrion.

At least they still had two dragons, if worse came to worse. Not that Tyrion believed it would come to that with Jaime.

But it appeared Tyrion had misjudged his brother in many ways. The moment they walked into the Dragonpit, Jaime turned to him from where he was talking to a huge man wearing a quartered pink and blue surcoat and the Hand of the King pin on his front. The Evenstar, if memory served Tyrion well, an odd choice for a Hand. The man was well respected, but that was it. Olenna Tyrell and Randyll Tarly were already sitting on the chairs on one side of the pit, and that was a surprise. Olenna Tyrell on the council.

The shock wasn't that, though, The shock was seeing Sansa Stark. She had grown since the last time he had seen her in Joffrey's wedding, in place of the timid and frightened child stood a woman with ice in her eyes and steel in her spine. She had survived literal monsters, for that Jon Snow had told him, and even fed them to their hounds. Tyrion was sorry she had to suffer like that, but he was glad to see she had come victorious in the end. She was deep in conversation with Adam Marband, who was dressed in White and wasn't that a surprise, and a huge blonde woman that looked slightly familiar, though Tyrion couldn't place her.

"Tyrion," Jaime said with a smile, and he looked legitimately happy to see his brother. Tyrion stopped for a second and then hurried to his side. Jaime crouched and they embraced, the comfort of his big brother's arms one that Tyrion wasn't supposed to miss in adulthood.

"I'm sorry about Cersei," he heard himself saying because as much as their sister had been a monster, Jaime had loved her.

"I'm sorry as well, but I guess that makes us even," Jaime looked him in the eyes, and Tyrion could see in his tired and haunted gaze what he had refused to believe before. "I guess we're both Kinslayers now."

...


	5. The Dragonpit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something primal and terrifying in the sight of a fully grown dragon swooping down to land scant metres from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm hoping to have this finished by Wednesday, which is when RL is going to railroad me for two weeks, but it keeps getting longer and longer. Hopefully, It will be done by then.

There was something primal and terrifying in the sight of a fully grown dragon swooping down to land scant metres from you, something that made Jaime tense and clench his fist against the impulse to run. It was a magnificent beast, dark as night and sleek, its movements graceful as it bent its neck for Daenerys Targaryen to descend from its back. 

She was also a sight to behold, with her regal bearing and her light hair perfectly braided like a crown. She was beautiful in the way Jaime remembered her brother being, almost too ethereal and perfect for mere mortals, and her violet eyes were more like Rhaegar's than Aerys's. 

She slowly walked without paying any attention to Jaime or his council and took her place next to her advisors. Jaime had to bite down on a smile, it was a good power move. He thought how much Cersei would have hated her, and the urge to smile disappeared immediately like it usually happened when he remembered his sister. He took a look to his right and stared at Brienne, who was seated next to her father, and she looked back at him, holding his gaze for a moment. He felt himself settle under her calm gaze, regaining his focus. 

He was going to need all his focus for this. 

In the distance, the dragon took flight again, leaving men to their business. 

"Thank you for agreeing to this parley, your Grace," Tyrion began, standing from his chair. 

"I'm still your brother, Tyrion, spare me the formalities. We both know who your Queen is," Jaime said, unable to contain himself and ignoring the reproachful glares from Randyll Tarly. The man was as sour as he was ugly, and if Jaime didn't need his army he would gladly be rid of his presence. On his other side, Sansa Stark, who had for some reason decided to sit on his side, was staring at him with a small modicum of respect. It wouldn't last, not once the full extent of his crimes against her family was known. He should make sure to get a full pardon for them before surrendering the crown, lest he lost his head at the hands of the King he himself made. "And we both know all of you are here because you need something from me, or we'd be fighting for the throne instead of calmly talking like civilised people."

Tyrion gave him a sharp nod, acknowledging what he had just said was the truth, but before he could say anything else, Daenerys spoke. "Ever since I was a little girl, my brother and used to talk about the man who had murdered our father in cold blood. We imagined what we would do to that man once we had regained our rightful place in this world, and now I'm ready to take back what's mine I find that same man is an usurper on top of being an oathbreaker and a murderer." She had been glaring coldly at Jaime since the moment she sat, her eyes simmering with rage and death. He didn't see any madness in them, not yet, but it had barely been two minutes, it was early. "Tell me, _Your Grace_ ," she spat those words as if they tasted foul in her mouth. "What's to stop me having my dragon burn you where you stand with all the people who put you in power?"

And this was what he had been expecting since the moment she touched down, and he couldn't even blame her for it. He had killed her father, and nobody except Brienne knew why. He had felt that same fury towards his brother for killing Tywin, and he had known that his father had been monstrous towards his brother and deserved what he got. And yet, he would have killed Tyrion himself had he found him in the days after his father's death. What would it be to have never met your father but only heard the tales of the monster who killed him instead of the monster he'd been.

He shot a quick look to Brienne and she nodded slowly, almost like she could see what he was considering in his expression. 

" _Wildfire_ ," he said, and all eyes turned to stare at him. "You use dragonfire here and the caches of wildfire buried all over the city go up in flames, with everyone in it." Varys was looking at him with a knowing expression, the Spider had always been smarter than people knew and kept his secrets close to his chest.

"You laid wildfire all over the city to hold it to ransom?" the disgust in her voice was clear and it irked him, she could believe the man who had killed her innocent and benevolent father had done that. 

He was about to shatter her worldview.

"Your father did, almost twenty years ago." She closed her mouth then, eyes narrowed. "Whatever stories you've heard about Aerys, he more than deserved the sword through the back he got. I have done many foul deeds in my life, some of them I regret deeply," like pushing the Stark boy from that tower. "But not this one, I only regret I didn't do it sooner." She stood up, furious, and Jon Snow clapped a hand over her wrist to hold her back. "I should have done it after the first night he raped and beat your mother while I stood guard on the other side of the door, but I was only five-and-ten and with a head full of oaths and honour, and I was told it wasn't my duty to defend her from the King." He was on a roll now, all those words that had been festering inside of him for so long coming out in the end, all those truths nobody had ever asked about finally in the open. "I should have done it when he slowly roasted Lord Stark in his armour, for asking reparations for the kidnapping on his daughter, while his son strangled himself to death trying to get to him. Lady Tyrell was there that day as well," he turned to Olenna, who was giving him a considering look. "She wasn't there later when he was so excited by the spectacle that he went to _visit_ his wife, for hours. I can still remember her screams."

Olenna nodded, face twisted up in disgust. "I can still remember the smell, it ruined the taste of meat for a whole year."

Daenerys's face had gotten paler and paler with his words, her eyes growing impossibly large. The Starks were also looking decidedly paler, this would also touch them directly. 

"When the rebellion started, I was tasked with guarding him because he wanted to keep my father on a leash, and I saw him laying the caches around the city. I never imagined that he would use them. When your brother died and the rebellion was won, with my father's army sacking the city I pleaded with him to surrender. He ordered me to bring him my father's head and then turned to his pyromancers. The last order your father gave was ' _Burn them all_ , _burn them in their beds, burn them in their homes_.' I killed the pyromancers first so they couldn't carry out the order and then went after Aerys. I would have killed him face to face, but he turned tail to run for his life when he saw me coming." He took a deep breath, and felt like some poison he had never known was there was suddenly drained out of him. "I couldn't move the wildfire without letting people know it was there, and I was sworn to keep my King's secret. I tried to at least uphold one oath even as I was named Oathbreaker by the realm. It's broken now; tell me Daenerys Targaryen, now that you know, _are you your father's daughter_? Are you going to burn us all?"

Silence fell like a shroud over the pit, all eyes focused on the two of them. Jaime risked a quick look at his brother, who was staring at him with horrified eyes. Daenerys took one deep breath, and Jaime could see her entire frame shaking; she was about to fly apart at the seams, too much for her to process. 

Suddenly Jaime found himself pitying her; he shouldn't have spoken so cruelly, using his words as weapons, but she had angered him with her disgust for him and he wasn't a nice man when angered. It was a harsh thing to do to forcefully remove the scales from someone's eyes so they could properly see the monster they had loved. He knew; he had felt it himself not too long ago.

He turned to her companions and located the one who looked more concerned for her. 

"Ser Jorah, please take Her Grace inside the keep to one of the guest rooms," he signalled to one of the servants and asked them to accompany them inside and prepare a room and refreshments for them. "Take as many of your men as you need for her to feel comfortable, and take Lady Brienne of Tarth with you, she knows the full story and will be able to answer any questions you might have." 

He felt bad for putting Brienne in that position, all eyes now staring at her. She bore them well, her spine strengthening, her eyes clear and proud when she looked at him. 

"I will have the answer to those questions from your own mouth, Your Grace," Daenerys said, regaining her composure though her voice still trembled slightly. "But I will accept your offer of a private place to do that. Grey Worm, Missandei, please come with me."

Jaime stood and nodded. "Ser Adam, Lady Brienne, if you will?" they stood up to go with him. "Lord Selwyn, Lady Sansa, please convey what we spoke of yesterday regarding the threat from the North. The Crown, as it stands now, pledges our support to the cause."

He left without looking back at his brother or Jon Snow, though he would have loved to see their faces at the ease with which they had received the help they so desperately sought. It was easy to be convinced of the threat when it was backed by Brienne, who had never lied to him and was the bravest person he knew. If she was scared, then it was a real threat.

...

There was a palpable tension inside the King's solar, where they had ended up. Adam had stared at him with an incredulous expression the entire time they walked to the Keep, and Jaime could tell he was in for a lecture the next time they were alone. Brienne had just walked next to him, her silent and sturdy presence by his side the only comfort he needed. 

It had been liberating to finally confess to all of that, to see the shock and understanding in the eyes of all those people who had judged him for the past two decades. And yet, he still felt his stomach roiling with nausea at the memories it had unearthed, still felt the tremble in his missing sword hand he had suffered for weeks following the death of Aerys; he had wondered whether he would be able to wield a sword again with a steady hand. It had disappeared when Cersei arrived at the capital, the first time she had allowed him to touch her after that day his hand had been steady on her skin and remained so ever since. 

Now he didn't have the hand any more than he had Cersei, and he was beginning to realize he didn't need either.

Daenerys sat on one of the chairs with the woman, Missandei she had called her, holding her hand while they conversed in High Valyrian. Both Grey Worm and Jorah Mormont stood behind her, keeping silent watch over them. 

Jaime sat on the other side of the table with Brienne by his side and Adam at his back, and waited for her to speak. He had already said everything he need to say, it was her turn to ask questions.

"Jaime," Brienne said in a low voice, and he turned to look at her. She looked concerned, a slight crease between her eyes, and Jaime wanted to smooth it away. "I'm glad you finally told. Regardless of what she chooses to believe now, I think she needs to know who her father was lest she becomes him."

Jaime agreed, and was overwhelmingly grateful for Brienne's presence by his side. Impulsively he took her hand, needing the comfort of touch the same way Daenerys had. He knew Brienne would never initiate a touch between them, too conscious of their difference in station, but Jaime didn't care, he relished the feel of their hands together, her calluses in the same places he had, her long and graceful fingers twinning with his. She was blushing deep red, but had made no move to take her hand away, though she was unable to look at Jaime on the face anymore. 

"You've worn the mantle of Kingslayer proudly for years," Daenerys finally broke the silence, her eyes shining but dry, her hand still tightly clasped with her companion's. "Why let them call you that if you were justified in your deed?"

"Did I allow them to call me that?" Jaime retorted. "I was named as such by the same King who profited from my act, I couldn't very well kill the new King we crowned for calling me Kingslayer. But he was the only one, everyone else wouldn't dare use it to my face. People called me the Lion of Lannister to my face and Kingslayer behind my back." He turned to Brienne with a wry smile. "Until you, of course. I think you were the first person to call me that to my face."

Daenerys frowned at them but pushed forward. "But you never told then, why would I believe you now?"

"I was being judged by everyone for the one good deed I'd done for the good of the realm," Jaime said, the bitterness in his voice clear for everyone to hear. "Everyone hated the tyrant and knew of his many monstrous deeds, and yet none of them asked me why I did it. They all assumed I did it for power, which I gave away, or because I lacked honour. Tell me, Your Grace, should I have kept defending myself my entire life? I was a proud Lion then, and Lions don't fear the judgement of sheep."

She was staring at him with a considering expression as if seeing him for the first time through a changing lens, not entirely sure what to make of him. "If what you say it's true, why let your sister do the same? She blew up the Sept with wildfire, didn't she?"

"And she died for it," Jaime admitted, and could see in her eyes she had already suspected as much. "And she wasn't just my sister and my Queen." Brienne squeezed his hand tightly, probably in warning. But what did he care, there were no children of his still living who could suffer for it, and the only person whose opinion he cared about anymore had known for years.

"Your lover."

"The other half of my soul, or so I believed for most of my life, my twin, and yes, my lover."

Daenerys nodded and leaned back on her chair; whatever it was she had wanted from him, he seemed to have passed the test. "Ser Jorah, can you give me some wine, please," she asked him. "Ser Barristan Selmy was a member of my Queensguard in Essos, he came looking for me when he was dismissed from the Kingsguard by your sister."

"That was one of her most stupid decisions," Jaime said, frowning, unsure where she was going with this. 

"It was my gain, and he was a very loyal man. He told me some stories about my father, but I could tell when he lied to me. When I asked if my father was well loved, he would change the subject or tell me tales of a long time ago, when my father was a young king." She smiled at the memory of Barristan, soft and fond and sad. "But one day, I don't know what came over him, he told me some real stories about my father. They didn't cast him on the best of lights, and I always wondered which one was the real one."

"Probably both, Ser Barristan was old enough to have lived both as a Kingsguard."

"Yes, he was." She fixed her uncanny eyes on him. "Your Grace, please tell me about my brother,"

Jaime relaxed his death grip on Brienne's hand and started talking. 

They spent a few hours in the solar, talking. At some point, Adam left and so did Jorah Mormont, another White Cloak took his place. During the whole time they talked, Jaime didn't let go of Brienne's hand and neither did she until it was time for dinner and they stood. 

"I would be honoured if you and your entourage stay the night at the Red Keep, we need to organize the movement of the troops to the North tomorrow."

"Thank you," she said, standing up as well. "I'll still demand the crown once we have defeated the army of the dead, and if you don't surrender it, I will go to war for it." She finally declared, looking at Jaime straight in the eye, and he couldn't help but admire her for it. "But if you surrender it peacefully to me now, I'll confirm you as Lord of Casterly Rock and officially pardon you for all your crimes."

Jaime smiled at her. "It's a generous offer, Your Grace, but you need me to command the Crown's armies in this fight, now it's not the time for a change of regime nor the time to test their loyalty to the Targaryen name. There are still many houses who remember the last one, and if the army that's coming is as bad as you think, we need every last fighter." He had promised the Crown to the Starks, but considering King Jon had arrived with her, it might be he had already bent the knee to Daenerys. If that was the case, he'd let Lady Sansa and her brother decide. "Ask me again after we all survive."

For the first time, she smiled at him in return. "I shall."

…

The war room was crowded when Sansa arrived, invited to the war council by the King himself. He had said they were all marching to her home and she should be there to make the decision, even when Jon was also there. 

After the revelations of the previous day, she was feeling some grudging respect for him. She had believed the Dragon Queen was about to kill him on the spot when she arrived, and when he started talking with that taunting tone of voice he had sometimes, she had been almost certain. Then the words had registered, and the full horror of what he was telling was reflected on every pair of eyes except for Brienne's. 

She had known, she had known even when Tyrion didn't. And it was obvious Tyrion hadn't known, nor had he suspected that Jaime had killed Cersei until they had embraced briefly upon his arrival. Sansa still knew how to read her ex-husband, and the shock on his face was plain to see. But he had probably never seen his brother with Brienne, had never seen his brother free of Cersei's influence and thrall. Tyrion's face when Jaime and Brienne arrived together to dinner after hours in a room with Daenerys, walking closely with their hands brushing occasionally and Brienne's face lighting up with a blush, was one of the funniest things Sansa had seen in some time. Jaime had been darting looks at Brienne every time their hands touched, his eyes soft and full of admiration, and dare she say, love. 

"My brother is in love with her," Tyrion had said sitting next to Sansa at dinner. "I wouldn't believe it if I couldn't see it with my own eyes."

"She's in love with him as well," Sansa had replied, and they had shared a look and lifted their goblets in a toast. "Everyone knows except for them"

And now they were still side by side, Jaime and Brienne, except there was nothing soft in their looks or demeanour this time. This was a war council, after all. 

"We take the fastest ships to White Harbour, and from there proceed to Winterfell." Jaime started, and this looked like a different man from the exhausted King she had met the first night. He had a martial bearing, his voice firm and sure. He was giving orders to his men like the general he was. "Lady Olenna and Lord Selwyn will hold the Capital. We'll leave some ships and a few garrisons stationed here just in case, but the bulk of the armies will travel north, either by ship or by road. I need Lady Olenna to manage the food supplies, we're a large army, made larger with the Unsullied and Dothraki forces, and we need to feed them all. Please set supply lines, I think the Iron fleet will need to escort the ships to dissuade pirates." He looked at Daenerys for permission and she nodded. The Iron fleet was sworn to her after all. "Lord Selwyn, you will hold the Kingdom as my hand while we're gone."

"You should stay here, Your Grace," Lord Selwyn said, though the look in his eye said he knew it was futile.

"I'd sooner abdicate than miss this fight," Jaime said, and Brienne's hand briefly brushed his, so softly it would have looked like an accidental touch was Brienne not blushing to the roots of her head, eyes fixed on the map. "Lord Tarly, you will proceed up the Kingsroad with half your forces and half the Tyrell forces, leave someone you trust as general in the Twins with half your people and then take the rest to Moat Caitlin. If Winterfell falls, that's where we will retreat." Jaime pointed to another site of the map and turned to Sansa. "Lady Sansa, can we count on the Knights of the Vale and the Winterfell forces? Can they be sent to the Gift as the first line of defence?"

Sansa thought about it, if she contacted Lord Baelish he would either try to slither away or exact a dear price for his help. She shuddered to think what he wanted, probably her hand in marriage. But if she contacted Lord Royce, they might be able to do it without Lord Baelish. Winterfell's armies were hers to command, she just needed to send a raven to Bran. "It will be done."

"Your Grace," he said turning to Jon and Daenerys, and there were too many Kings and Queens for just one room, it was getting confusing. Sansa bit down on a smile, this was a serious discussion, and then caught Tyrion's eye when they both turned at the same time, his own mouth twitching up. Jaime seemed to realize the same. "King Jon, you said we needed dragonglass to fight the wights?"

"It's being extracted from Dragonstone and will be shipped to Winterfell as soon as we're done, we'll have our blacksmiths work on it as it arrives."

"We'll go to the Street of Steel and get as many blacksmiths as we can get to travel north."

A maester approached Sansa then, a scroll in his hand and she took it from him. It was from Winterfell. "This is from my brother," she said and Jaime turned startled eyes on her.

"Your brother?" there was an odd note in his voice. " _Brandon_?"

"Yes, there should always be a Stark in Winterfell and he arrived from the other side of the Wall a few days before I left." She couldn't decipher the look on his face, not the one he shared with Brienne, but she had no time for it anyway. She closed her eyes after reading the scroll, her heart hammering in her chest. "We need to rush back to Winterfell immediately. _The Wall has been breached."_

...


	6. Interlude - The Maiden Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gods had favoured them with good winds, which made the sailing smooth and fast, something they sorely needed after the summons from Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No plot advancement, I'm afraid. But a nice interlude.

The Gods had favoured them with good winds, which made the sailing smooth and fast, something they sorely needed after the summons from Winterfell. They had sailed immediately after the council, leaving barely any time for last minute preparations and goodbyes before they all boarded their ships. Brienne had been reluctant to part from her father but was happy to know he'd be staying behind in King's Landing. Selwyn, on the other hand, had been less than pleased by the idea of his only daughter going to fight the dead.

"Make sure she comes back to me, Your Grace," he had told Jaime as they were boarding the ship, and Jaime had nodded in all seriousness. 

"I'd sooner lose my other hand than let any harm come to her," he'd replied, making Brienne's heart swell and trip all over itself. 

And then they had been one the way to the North, the Dothraki running on horseback up the Kingsroad with Jorah Mormont; they were expected to arrive in Winterfell in less than a fortnight at the speed they usually rode. The rest of their forces were divided among all their ships and the Kingsroad, their supply routes being established from the capital.

The trip had been uneventful so far; Euron Greyjoy's fleet had only been sighted once, but they had kept their distance, probably encouraged to do so by the dragons soaring overhead of their ships, and yet the mood in the ship was nothing short of abysmal. 

Lady Sansa had been arguing with her brother the few times she could see him anywhere around on his own and spent the rest of the time in the company of Tyrion Lannister. It appeared they were cementing a good friendship many years after their marriage, and Brienne was happy to see her smiling at someone. 

Daenerys and Jon spent most of the time together, either in their cabins or the dining room, and one didn't need to be a genius to know what was happening between them. Brienne didn't care about anyone's affairs of the heart, had enough with her own, but according to Sansa her brother had bent the knee to Daenerys, and that was going to cause trouble for them in Winterfell with the Lords and Ladies of the North. Jon Snow had left Winterfell a King and returned a Lord with a Queen and a King in tow; Sansa had more than enough reasons to be angry with her brother if only for his terrible timing, weakening his stance with their people just as they needed it to be stronger. 

All of that was bad enough to keep the tensions high in the ship, and it was made worse by Jaime Lannister, Southron King and Kingslayer, the most hated man in the North. _The North Remembers_ , they usually said and in this case, they remembered that it was Jaime himself who attacked Ned Stark and killed all his household, and Jaime's son who beheaded him. They remembered that Jaime killed the Karstaks and survived while Karstark lost his head for the murdering of Lannister prisoners. They remembered it was Tywin Lannister's hand behind the Red Wedding, and though the North had suffered terrible loses Jaime Lannister returned to Winterfell with a crown on his head. 

"I'll be lucky if I don't get my throat slit in my sleep," Jaime had said one night when Brienne went to retrieve him for dinner. "And that's before they know I pushed the boy out of the window, it will be your Lady Sansa herself doing it once she knows. Or maybe she'll ask you to do it, you're sworn to the North, after all." 

He had been in a bleak mood since the council when Sansa had announced the contents of the message she received. Everyone assumed he was worried about the fate of the Kingdom now the Wall had fallen, but she knew better. Out of his many sins, as he usually said, this was the one act he regretted, and he wasn't used to guilt and regret. He was terrified of having to face the consequences of his actions, and he had reacted to it by withdrawing into himself. Brienne tried not to feel hurt by the walls he had thrown up, leaving her cold on the other side after the closeness they had enjoyed in King's Landing, but she was losing patience with his sulking. 

They were one day away from White Harbour, and she had barely seen him out of his cabin the entire time. She was there again, ready to knock some sense into him if necessary before they arrived. 

Tyrion was the one to open the door when she knocked, "Good, it's you," he let the door wider and Brienne came into the cabin. Jaime was as dishevelled as she had seen him since her arrival, only in breeches and with his jerkin half open, his golden hand and crown on top of the table, his hair a complete mess where he had probably been running his fingers through it. "Talk some sense into him."

Jaime glared at his brother. "Can't you leave me in peace for a day? I'll be fine once we disembark."

"You've had a sennight to sulk, we disembark tomorrow," Tyrion replied with a headshake. "I'm going to dine with Lady Sansa, she's better company than you."

He left them with that, and Brienne stood close to the door, feeling out of place. Jaime's eyes focused on her then, and his shoulders slumped. 

"Lady Brienne," he said, standing up from his cot. "I apologise for my brother's rudeness."

"Apologise for your own, _Your Grace_ ," she snapped tired of his self-pity and his confusing attitude, keeping her close one moment and at arm's length the other. 

He stared at her for one moment and collapsed back on the cot. "You're right," he said softly, lifting his left hand to run his fingers again through his hair, messing it further. "I have been rude to you, who has only tried to help me these days, and I am sorry. I've been so busy since they put this crown on my head I had no time to consider whether I actually deserve it, or if I should have burned like Daenerys wanted me to." He fixed her with a sad look. " _I don't_ , I don't deserve it, and now I have to walk into Winterfell a King where the boy I crippled awaits. I think I half convinced everyone I'm not the monster they all thought, but they had the right of it. _I am_."

That was the problem, wasn't it? He had been too busy to really grieve and process all that had happened. She had realized when she arrived, had seen the exhaustion and the grief in him and tried to help, but just one night of sleep wasn't enough, just her presence and support wasn't enough if he didn't get the time to mourn and come to terms with everything. She had let herself be fooled by his pretence that he was fine, that everything was fine. But it was just that, pretence, their enemy was coming and he couldn't appear weak, but he wasn't fine after all. 

And now that there was nothing for them to do until they reached Winterfell, no pressing crisis or enemy coming for him, and with the news that Bran was still alive and waited for them at the end of this trip, it had all come up to the surface.

No wonder he had closed himself in his cabin.

Brienne steeled herself and approached the cot, she sat on the side and took his hand in hers, tugging until he let her move it from his head. She was tense, expecting Jaime to pull his hand away and put her in her place, berate her for taking liberties she had no right to. Instead, Jaime was staring at her with wide eyes, a rosy tinge on his face. Brienne twined their fingers together, emboldened by his acceptance of the gesture, and placed their joined hands on her lap. She could feel her entire face burning hot, and probably looked as if she was on fire, but she pushed through her discomfort. 

"You're not, not anymore." She knew this in her bones, in her heart. He might have been a monster once, but she didn't think so. He just had lost sight of who he really was, too embroiled with his sister and his father's thirst for power. The moment he had stepped away from them, he had started to become himself, the man she had fallen in love with instead of the one she, and the entire kingdom, had despised. "A monster wouldn't have sacrificed himself for me, wouldn't have jumped in front of a bear for the ugliest maid in Westeros." He opened his mouth to protest, but she kept talking, not giving him the chance. "A monster wouldn't have let me into Riverrun to stop bloodshed or sent for help after your sister's death. I know you can't see it, but your actions since that time in Harrenhall are those of a good man, not a monster."

He was looking at her in that way again, the way that had made her believe, during those last days in King's Landing, that he might have feelings for her as her father had said. He was looking at her like she was precious and he couldn't believe she was real. 

No man had ever looked at her like that. Not her.

"I'm really not a good man, Brienne," he said, and his voice sounded deeper than before, his eyes darker. He leaned forward, pushing himself into a seating position with his stump, his good hand still on her lap. "A good man wouldn't be struggling to remember you're still a maiden." She felt her breath catching in her throat at his proximity, their faces close enough she could feel his breath. "You need to leave now," he said, and she felt the stab of rejection then and was about to take her hand from his to leave when he pulled their joined hands from her lap and pressed his lips against her knuckles, "before I dishonour you."

She stood up from the cot and pulled her hand free, and turned to the door, humiliated. Then the words registered properly and she stopped. She turned back to look at him; Jaime was still staring at her with the same intensity, his hand clenched on a fist next to his body and his chest heaving. The silence between them stretched. 

"You're not leaving."

"No, I'm not."

He stood up from the cot and approached her again. "You should."

"Probably."

"But you're not."

Her mouth twitched up on a smile. "No."

Jaime sighed, deep and heartfelt. "I really wanted to do things properly this time. I was going to ask your father for your hand if I survived this fight."

She felt her heart tripping in her chest and remembered the conversation with her father. "He knows, you can still do it when we get back."

"We might die in the North." He moved even closer then, and Brienne could feel his heat against her front. "I'm not waiting that long, Lady Sansa is your liege lady, I'll ask her in the morning." He put his good hand around her neck and guided her down a bit, leaning forward at the same time until their lips were almost touching. "Are you sure this is what you want, Brienne?"

She didn't reply, not verbally, just crashed her mouth against his and opened to his kiss when he nudged their lips together, parting them with his tongue to delve inside and taste her. She had never been kissed before, not really, and wasn't really sure what to do with her hands or her tongue, didn't want to disappoint him with her lack of experience. He didn't seem disappointed though, soft appreciative moans leaving his throat while he pushed her backwards until her back hit the wall of the cabin. He pushed against her, and she could feel his hardness against her groin, his mouth moving to her neck to bite and suck, Brienne shivered at the feeling, a groan falling from her lips. 

"Jaime."

"Gods, you taste so good," he whispered against her skin. "I want to taste you all over."

She felt a flash of heat explode in her gut at his words, her hands clutching at his back, her knees threatening to give and drop her on her ass. He appeared to be happy to hold her weight, using his good hand to try to undo the laces of her tunic. His fingers were made clumsy with desire, and she pushed him slightly away to help things along. As soon as her tunic was undone he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her breast, sucking her nipple between his lips, and Brienne shouted at the feeling. 

"Jaime, bed," she mumbled when she felt her legs threatening to give up on her, and he lifted his head and smiled at her. 

"Help me take my clothes off," he rasped, pulling at the laces of his breeches with his hand. She could see the bulge on the front of them and pressed her hand against it, curious. Jaime bucked and cursed, then grabbed her wrist in an iron grip and removed her hand from there. 

"Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed that she had done something she shouldn't.

"Brienne, if you touch me like that I'm going to spill before you even get me off my clothes," he explained, pressing his lips to her jaw while he directed her hand to the laces. This time she undid them, and then her own, and soon both were naked and stumbling to the cot. It was too small for both of them, but neither of them cared, he guided her down to lay on it and then just stared at her body. She felt the impulse to cover herself, years of insults and doubts engraved in her mind, but the heat in his eyes was unmistakable, and the reverence in his touch when he finally crawled on top of her body to explore. Jaime kissed her scars, the deep gouges the bear had left on her collarbone, the cuts left by swords all over her body, and finally the one on her thigh he had put there himself during their fight so many years ago. He traced that one with lips and tongue, probably remembering how it got there, until she was trembling with desire, her breath short and choppy. 

"Jaime, what are you doing?" she cried when she felt his breath brushing her sex and looked down to see him smirking up at her from between her legs, his eyes blown.

"Tasting you." 

He pressed his lips to her mound and parted her folds with his tongue, and Brienne whimpered at the shivery feeling that took over her. She lost herself on the feelings of his tongue and his fingers in that most intimate part of her, gasping for breath when his fingers breached her. She pawed at the bed and then at his back and hair until she could pull him off her and pull him up, "Come here," she whispered, seeking his lips with hers and tasting herself on his tongue. "I need you inside, Jaime."

He froze. "Are you sure, you'll still be a maid if I finish you with my mouth."

"Were you lying to me when you said you wanted my hand in marriage?" she asked, her breath unsteady.

"Of course not," he replied immediate, outraged.

"Then what does it matter if you take my maidenhead tonight or tomorrow."

He kissed her again, deeply and desperately, his entire body pressed against hers, skin on skin, and this was the best thing she had ever felt, this was the place she had never believed she could be but couldn't imagine now not being. She opened her thighs to cradle him in them and he moaned against her mouth when his cock brushed against her sex. "Oh Gods, Brienne, you're so wet for me," he said, like a prayer, like praise. He pushed and she guided him until he was pressing just inside, slowly, mindful of her pain. There wasn't any pain, not really, just a mild discomfort of the first stretch and a quick pinching sensation, and then he was there, fully sheathed in her, and he was panting against her mouth. 

They moved together, crashing against each other while they kissed, their hands exploring as the feelings got tighter and tighter, Brienne feeling so tense she believed she would snap in half, her legs crossed behind his back and urging him faster and deeper. This was not what she had imagined it would be, even when she had dared imagine it with Jaime, the reality of his skin against her, of his mouth, leaving trails of fire on her neck, of his breath and his groans and his eyes never leaving her, his gaze completely present in a way she knew he could be seeing nothing and nobody but her.

It was that thought that finished her, trembling in his arms as her climax took her, and she felt him withdraw and spill on the sheets, groaning. 

He then kissed her again, languidly, letting his weight on top of her body completely uncaring of how sweaty and sticky they were. 

"As soon as we get to Winterfell, I'm making you my Queen." He pressed his lips against her neck and mumbled sleepily. "I like the sound of that, _Queen Brienne_. I'm tempted to keep the crown just for that."

Queen Brienne, she thought, closing her eyes with a smile. Her Septa would have died of shock.

...


	7. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell was still as cold and unwelcoming as he remembered, though Jaime couldn't seem to mind, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have no words to describe how delighted and surprised I am by the response to this fic, seriously, thanks so much to everyone leaving comments and kudos, you make me want to keep writing more and more and more.  
> One more chapter to go, and though I'll try to have it for tomorrow, I'm afraid that here's when my RL will take over and I might not have time to finish it for a few days.

Winterfell was still as cold and unwelcoming as he remembered, though Jaime couldn't seem to mind, not anymore. He looked to the side where Brienne was riding next to him, her posture straight but her face flushing every time the saddle reminded her of the previous night and that morning's activities.

Jaime smiled, he had delighted in discovering her body and introducing to his Queen the pleasure it could give her. His Queen, it had a nice ring to it, short-lived as it would be. Sansa had agreed to give him her hand in her father's stead, and the moment they had stepped out of the ship in White Harbour she had taken them to a weirwood tree where they could exchange vows in front of the Old Gods, with Tyrion and Sansa as witnesses.

"I'll marry you with all the pomp and ceremony you deserve, in front of the Seven and the entire Kingdom when we get back," he had promised Brienne. "But if anything were to happen to me in the North, I don't want anyone believing I besmirched your honour. You will always be my Queen, the Lady of Casterly Rock."

It wasn't the wedding she deserved, and the real vows he had whispered against her skin that morning before leaving the ship's cabin, but it would do for now. Though if she kept blushing in that way every time she thought of them, he was going to drag her off her horse and into some guest room as soon as they were inside the castle, manners be damned. As if she could read his mind, Brienne shot him a narrow-eyed glare and slowed the pace of her horse to ride alongside Tyrion.

His cheerful mood lasted right until the moment they entered the castle and dismounted their horses. The Lord of Winterfell was sitting on his wheelchair, the entire household with him. Jaime had to focus on the people standing next to the boy lest he started shaking apart at seams. Next to his chair was a little slip of a girl in Stark greys and with an aura of danger that Jaime recognized from experienced soldiers and assassins. Lady Sansa gasped at her sight, and ran to her, enveloping her in a hug. "That's Arya Stark," Brienne said stopping next to Jaime, her hand grasping his left and grounding him, both of them watching Jon Snow also running to his siblings, his face the picture of disbelief, as the Starks reunited. "I found her in the Riverlands a long time ago," Brienne kept talking, dragging his attention from the scene in front of them. "She was travelling with the Hound, of all people, and while I fought him for her, she escaped."

That caught his attention. "You fought the Hound?" He had always knowns Brienne was strong, but that was more dangerous than he was comfortable with. The Hound was not only strong, but he also fought dirty.

"She won, too," a gruff voice to their right said, and they turned to see The Hound standing outside the smithy.

"Clegane," Brienne greeted him with a brief nod and a quirk of her lips. "Good to see you're alive. Have you come to join the fight?"

"Yeah, heard some cunt in King's Landing had my brother beheaded, so I decided to come fight here since I don't have to kill him anymore." He nodded at Jaime and left, showing him exactly the same respect he'd always done.

It was oddly refreshing. "I should ask Adam to give that man his White Cloak back, it would be good for my ego."

Brienne smiled at him. "Yes, it would. Your ego definitely needs to be kept in check."

"That's your job now."

"And a hard job it's going to be."

The Starks had separated now and Jaime turned to look at them only to find Bran's eyes on him, his expression bland as if he didn't recognize him at all. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace," he said, his voice clear and as expressionless as his face.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Daenerys said, and Jaime just nodded, letting her take the honour in here. He was already hated by most people in the North for his past crimes, he didn't need to compound it by taking the crown out of Jon Snow's head. The pup hadn't bent the knee to him, after all.

It turned out to be the smart move; the Lords and Ladies of the North glared at him, but only half as much as they did at Daenerys and Jon Snow. They all traipsed inside the castle, the great hall quickly filling with people, everyone talking at the same time and shouting. Jaime couldn't follow everything, but it seemed clear to him the North wasn't happy that the King they had elected had given away his crown in exchange for an army, especially considering he had returned with two armies, and he had only kneeled for the Queen. Jaime knew he had done more than kneeling for her, but that wasn't his place to mention.

He looked to the side and saw Bran being wheeled away by a fat man in Night Watch's garb. Bran looked back straight into Jaime's eyes, he stood from his seat to follow. "Where are you going?" Brienne asked in a whisper.

"To talk to an old friend," he replied, though the last thing he wanted to do was that. But he had to.

He followed them to the Godswood, where the Night Watch's man just stared at Jaime for a moment. "It's ok, Sam, he's an old friend," Bran said, Sam frowned at them but left without question.

Jaime realized he didn't have anything to say. Or, more exactly, he had too many things to say to this boy, none of them enough to convey his regret or to ask for forgiveness.

"It's been a long time, Your Grace," Bran was the one to break the silence, and that snapped Jaime out of it. He approached the boy and then crouched so he could look at him in the eye without Bran having to look up.

"I'm sorry," he said, choked, the words practically ripped from his mouth. "I know nothing I can say or do will ever make up for what I did to you. But I am sorry."

"I know you are," Bran said, still as calm and bland as before. As if he wasn't talking to the man who crippled him, or he didn't care.

"Any judgment--"

"No judgement is needed," he interrupted, and Jaime felt his heart stopping in his chest. "You are the man you are today because you pushed me down that window. You'd still be the Kingslayer, your sister's lover, had you not done that. And Winterfell wouldn't have your army now to fight the Dead. Bran Stark hated you, but like you, I'm not that person anymore."

"Who are you now?" He asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"I'm the Three-Eyed Raven." Another mythical creature, the all-seeing memory of the world, the most powerful greenseer. Who was Jaime to say he wasn't, he had come all the way to Winterfell to fight The Night King with two Dragons flying overhead, after all. "I will keep your secret; we'll lose our best ally if I let my sisters murder you."

Jaime breathed in a sigh of relief, it wasn't forgiveness, but it was something. He wouldn't need to worry about a dagger on his back while they had a war to wage.

"And afterwards?" he asked, because he had something to live for afterwards, and he'd hate to disappoint Brienne.

"We'll see what happens if there is an afterwards," Bran said, his eyes far away. "Push me inside, if you may? The Night King has reached the Gift and we need to meet the council and plan the next step."

...

The council room was overcrowded when he finally made it inside with Bran. Brienne's eyes automatically focused on them, a question clear to read there. Jaime gave a sharp nod and pushed the wheelchair up to the map next to Brienne, immediately taking the space on her side and taking her hand. He needed the contact to anchor himself after his conversation with Bran.

"The Dothraki have reached Wintertown, Your Grace," Bran said to Daenerys, "The Lannister Army will reach Moat Caitlin in two more days, and will be here in a sennight. The Night King has reached the Gift."

"Can we pull the Knights of the Vale and our soldiers back to Last Hearth?" Jon Snow asked, his brow furrowed.

Bran shook his head. "They've been overrun already, half the army we sent is fighting for the Night King now, the other half is already in retreat."

Jaime studied the map and the positioning of their troops, they were still pretty much scattered and wouldn't be at full strength for a sennight. And even then, they needed at least one day for the soldiers to rest before engaging in battle, especially the kind of battle they were going to fight, against enemies that were already dead and thus very hard to kill.

"We've brought the supply of Dragonglass from Dragonstone to Winterfell, we've also brought a dozen smiths from the Street of Steel to work on it. How many Valyrian steel swords do we have?" Jon Snow asked. "Valyrian steel will kill a White Walker where any other sword will shatter."

"Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail were forged from your Ice," Jaime said, all eyes on him.

"I have Heart's Bane," Sam said, his voice tremulous.

"And I have Longclaw," Snow said, a meagre four swords, but they were their best advantage and they would use them to the fullest. "We should be the ones going after the Night King or the White Walkers. Anyone else would just throw their life away, steel will not harm them. Dragonglass will but it's hard to work with and very fragile. As a sword, it would shatter on the first parry."

"Can the wights be killed with steel?" Brienne asked, her eyes also focused on the map.

"Yes," Sam replied. "Though Dragonglass is faster."

"We need to have the smiths working in shifts to make as many Dragonglass daggers and arrow points as they can. How long until the dead reach Winterfell?" Daenerys asked looking at the map, "And how many of them are there? Is Viserion with them?" There were real grief and rage in her voice, and fear for what it meant that an undead dragon was heading their way.

Bran took a breath and his eyes filmed white, his body tensing on the chair. Around him, a hush fell in the war room, the feeling of a held breath.

"There are too many to count, tens of thousands, probably a hundred thousand, their numbers growing as they encounter living settlements," Bran said when he returned to the present, and Jaime felt a spike of terror at the idea of hundreds of thousands of enemies, already dead, coming to kill them. It wasn't a war or the possibility of death what would make cowards of most of the men coming to fight, it was fighting dead men, it was the chance that they would fall and stand back with ice blue eyes and turn their swords against their friends. The Nights of the Vale had turned tail when confronted by them, and so had the Winterfell soldiers. "At the speed they march, they will be here in a sennight. I haven't seen the Night King or the dragon. Only wights."

Jaime shook his head. That was not good, his army would be exhausted from the march. "And we know they're coming to Winterfell," maybe if they could get them to deviate from the path.

"The Night King is coming for me," Bran said, apparently unconcerned with this fact. "And he always knows where I am." He turned his arm and showed everyone around the mark on his arm.

"If we were to take you south, somewhere else?" Jorah Mormont asked, clearly picking up on what the problem was.

"They will still destroy everything in their path, and swell their ranks as they do."

"We make our stand in Winterfell," Jon Snow said, moving pieces around the map. "We need to slow them down if we can and give time for the full retreat of our people in the North."

"I'll fly North with Drogon and set some fires in their army," Daenerys offered and Jon tensed immediately.

"Your Grace--"

"Can it be done without risking losing another dragon?" Jaime asked before Jon could voice any objection.

All eyes turned to Bran, and he nodded. "I haven't seen them, but doesn't mean they are not close. Keep close to the vanguard and retreat immediately and it will be fine. It will give us some time and help with the retreat of our forces."

It was the best they would get, so it would have to do. "I'll send a raven to our troops and hope we can make them pick up the pace," Jaime said.

"We all need to rest now and set the strategies and begin preparations tomorrow," Jon Snow said, and there were nods of agreement everywhere around.

"I'll have the guest rooms assigned and dinner served in the Main Hall for everyone," Sansa added, taking over the mantle of Lady of Winterfell.

Looking at the people it was easy to see they were weary from travel and no one had had a proper night of sleep in way too long.

Gratefully, the council dissolved until the next day.

…

For the next few days, they fell into a routine, one that almost made it feel normal to be in the North.

Jaime and Brienne would get up early in the morning and check if there had been any ravens with news from the Lannister army marching north under the command of Dickon Tarly and Adam Marbrand, check their progress up the Kingsroad before heading to the yard to train. They would spar against each other, against Adam and Pod, against any Northern or Vale lordling that wanted to.

Most of them wouldn't dare approach them due to their station or for pure hatred of Jaime, but little Lyanna Mormont had requested to spar with Brienne and, surprisingly, Arya Stark had asked to spar with him.

It had been an interesting experience that had attracted many people to watch him being humiliated by a little slip of a girl. It would have been a bigger hit to his ego if he didn't know he wasn't half the fighter he once was, and if she wasn't extraordinary. Arya moved like water; deep, fluid, and twice as dangerous, and was almost impossible to read. Jaime had enjoyed their spar, even when it had ended with a dagger at his throat.

It took him a second to recognize it, but the moment he did his entire body had frozen in shock.

"That's Littlefinger's dagger," Jaime said, his eyes focused on the intricate handle and the Valyrian steel blade.

"He said it was your brother's, in fact," Arya countered. "And it was sent to kill my brother Bran a long time ago."

"Tyrion had nothing to do with any attempt on your brother's life," Jaime protested; that had been the start of the hatred between their houses, and Jaime knew it was his fault.

She studied him for a moment and then nodded.

"We know it was your monstrous son who sent the assassin, but someone killed him before I could get to him." She was staring at him with those disturbingly cold eyes of her, and as it had happened with Olenna, Jaime wanted to rage and attack the girl for disrespecting his dead son, but she was right, he had been a monster and that monster had killed her father. "You also got to your sister and Clegane's brother before I could, so now my list is finally empty except for one name, the person who started the war between our families."

And who wasn't going to live for long, her tone said loud and clear. "Are you going to kill me now, or after we've won _this_ war?" he asked her, not really surprised. Bran had said he'd keep their secret, but he was part of the family who had decimated the Starks, and his attack on Ned Stark had started a war.

" _You_? You didn't start the war, you were a pawn the same as all of us," she looked surprised and amused. "You were never on my list. Hurt any of my family, though, and you will be."

She had left him there, staring after her, wondering who was going to end up dead at her hands, until Brienne had dragged him to break their fast.

They usually did that in the Main Hall with Sansa and Tyrion, but after that disturbing conversation, he had dragged Brienne to their rooms and sank into her frantically, almost desperately, needing the comfort of her touch and the look on her beautiful eyes to remember he wasn't the monster anymore.

They would hold a council meeting before lunch, discuss the progress of their forces and what advances had been made in the defence of the castle. Trenches were being dug surrounding Winterfell that would be set on fire in the case of a last-ditch retreat. With the number of troops they had, it would be a last resort since they wouldn't be able to get even half their forces in, and anyone left outside would become an enemy. 

"The women and children can hide in the Crypt," Jon Snow had said during one of the meetings when they were discussing strategies for the retreat in worst case scenario, and Jaime blinked at him, uncertain he had heard that correctly. "They are large enough for all of them."

" _The Crypt_ ," Jaime had said slowly.

"Yes, it's deep under the castle and has only one entrance which can be barred from the inside."

"It also has the corpses of countless Starks, doesn't it? And our enemy raises the dead. Why would you put our most defenceless inside a death trap?"

It had been satisfactory to see Jon Snow's face and even Tyrion's staring at him as if he had hit them over the head with his golden hand, Daenerys had snickered a bit under her breath and shot him a reluctantly amused look, and Lady Sansa had diplomatically announced they would shelter the women and children in the wine cellar, barring the Crypt from the outside.

Afterwards, they would go back to the yard and help train the soldiers until it was dinner time, where they would sit at the high table with the Starks and Tyrion, the Great Hall filled to bursting with people from all over Westeros and Essos. It was a novel experience, also seeing the proximity between his brother and the Lady of Winterfell, how they would spend every moment they had free of duty together. He knew that look in his brother's eyes but didn't want to say anything. He didn't know whether Lady Sansa had any romantic feeling for his brother or it was simply a fondness born of their time together.

He hoped they had a chance to find out.

It had been established that for the time being, while the Night King was coming for them and their survival was still uncertain, all hostilities for the throne were to be put aside. They were never going to be the best of friends, but Jaime and Jorah Mormont had enough military background in common and Grey Worm was a gifted fighter and commander. The three of them discussed strategies frequently, with sporadic input from the Dothraki, who were fierce and skilled but too hotheaded for lengthy discussions. Brienne didn't accompany them during these times, not because she was a woman like a Northern Lord had suggested once before being met with Jaime's golden hand and Lady Sansa's frosty glare, but because she was one of the best fighters and she was better put to use in the training yard.

She hadn't even argued the first day when they'd ask her to help with the training instead of the planning. "You'll tell me everything tonight," she had shrugged before leaving, her hand in Oathkeeper, and Jaime had smiled like a fool the rest of the meeting, warmed by her trust.

His favourite part was the nights, though. He wouldn't mind staying in Winterfell forever, freezing his balls off and without the threat of the Knight King, as long as he could crawl inside the furs with Brienne, take his time mapping her body with teeth and lips and tongue, making her scream his name in that breathless way he adored, sink into her, into that perfect place that only he knew and then, afterwards, have her naked body curled around his back, her breasts pressed against his skin and her hands covering his over his heart.

He would give up as many crowns as necessary to keep this forever.

…

Things were decidedly tense in the council room. Daenerys and Jon had just landed with their dragons after one last attempt at cutting down the enemy's forces. They had been forced to retreat without being able to engage, a line of White Walkers had been ready for them, and Dany and Drogon had come too close for comfort to being skewered by one of their ice lances.

The last of the retreating forces from Eastwatch had arrived with the news that the army of the dead was almost upon them. They would be there before dawn. The Lannister forces had arrived that morning, Dickon Tarly embracing a surprised Sam, his brother, before reporting to the council. They had ten thousand soldiers stationed outside, five more in Wintertown, and another ten thousand stationed in Moat Caitlin in case a retreat was necessary. He would need to speak to Adam and the rest of the commanders to place the troops, but for now, he told them to get food and rest, and to head to the smithy to arm them with Dragonglass if possible.

A few members of the Night Watch and a red-headed Wilding came next into the council room, the Wilding leered at Brienne, who grimaced and grabbed Jaime's hand tightly, and Jaime couldn't help a bit of mischief. He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips, staring at the Wilding with narrowed eyes. The man's face fell suddenly, but Jaime didn't have it in him to feel bad, Brienne was his.

"The Walkers are not keeping out of sight anymore," Daenerys said, "though we haven't seen the Night King."

"He'll be coming for me," Bran insisted, as he had done in every other meeting.

Jon leaned over the map. "Then we put you in the centre of the castle, protected by Dragonglass and Valyrian steel."

"No, I'll wait in the Godswood, by the tree, with the Ironborn as we had discussed."

"It's dangerous, Bran," Sansa protested, "I don't like using you as bait."

"It can only be me."

"Everything is dangerous tonight, we might all die here but we'll die fighting," Arya said, and everyone nodded.

The would succeed or they would die fighting. There were no other options.

They went over the plan once again and then dissolved the council, everyone too eager to spend what could be their last hours forgetting about the enemy about to arrive.

Brienne and Jaime went outside, to talk to their troops and have one last drink with Adam and Dickon Tarly, who had disappeared on them.

"He's with his brother and his family," Adam said, passing a glass of Dornish red to each of them. "They met in Horne Hill not too long ago, but you know what a cunt Randyll is, and he made Sam leave in the middle of the night. Sorry, Your Highness," Adam apologized, blushing.

"Why? He's a cunt, and I know that better than most," she admitted with a shrug, and Adam choked on his drink. There was a story there, one that Jaime would get at some point, but not tonight.

They drank for a while, Adam's eyes following the serving wenches and camp followers hungrily until Jaime stood with a laugh at his friend. "I'm taking my wife to our rooms so tomorrow I remember why I'm fighting," he took Brienne's hand and pulled her up her chair. "The red-headed wench would like to remind you, my friend. Don't overexert yourself and forget how to fight tomorrow." he clasped Adam's shoulder and took Brienne out of the hall, laughing all the way to their rooms at her blush.

…

"Gods but I hate the North," Jaime grumbled the moment they closed the door of their room, shivering while Brienne stoked the fire that had almost gone out in the hearth. The dark corridors of that drafty castle were not made for a Southerner like him, nevermind that Tarth was further to the south than the Rock. She was definitely more used to the cold than he was, what with having sworn herself to a Northerner.

"It grows on you," she said, removing her cloak and hanging it from a perch. She went to him and started undoing the ties of his cloak, Jaime grabbed her hands and pulled until they were pressed chest to chest, his arms twining around her waist.

"Have I also grown on you?" he teased, leaning forward to kiss her.

She let him taste her mouth for a moment and then pushed him away. "No," she replied, but she was smiling. She finished removing his cloak and hung it next to hers. Jaime like that, the idea of their cloaks next to each other, and the idea of her being cloaked in his Lannister one as soon as they arrived in King's Landing made him smile even wider.

He caught her hand when she turned back to him, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Help me take off the rest of my clothes?"

Brienne sighed, long-suffering, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I thought you were cold?"

"You'll warm me up." He pressed himself against her again, letting her feel the effect she had on him.

She blushed to the roots of her hair, face blotchy and endearing. "You haven't had enough?"

"Of you? Not by a long shot and not for a long time."

"Oh," she said as if she found it surprising he still desired her constantly after they had spent together every night since they arrived in Winterfell; as if she couldn't imagine why he'd want her taste and the warmth of her body every single day and night for the rest of his life. As if he hadn't just declared to his oldest friend his intention to make love to her all night long.

As if he would ever have enough of her.

He pushed her back until they fell together on the bed, and he kissed her and kissed her, deeply and hungrily until she started painting against his mouth, her hands tugging frantically at his laces.

Afterwards, as they laid entwined on the bed, naked and sated, Jaime drew patterns on her skin with his good hand.

"What are you drawing?" she asked, her voice rough and sleepy.

"The path to my favourite cave in Casterly Rock," he confessed. "I used to go there when I was a child and explore, thinking that maybe I would find the treasure left by a smuggler or a pirate. I imagined what I would do with it if I found gold or rubies." In those games, it was always him finding a treasure, gold that didn't come with the obligations of being Tywin Lannister's son, gemstones that his sister wouldn't claim immediately. He stopped going there when Tyrion was born, wanting to spend time with his baby brother, Cersei demanding more and more of his time as well, and he had forgotten about them until now. "When we leave; after they crown Daenerys, or Jon Snow, or Sansa Stark, or Bran for all I care, we're going to Casterly Rock and I will take you there, to see the caves. And one day we'll take our children there, and let them play at being pirates, or smugglers, and well put some gold and gemstones for them to find--" his voice trailed off, eyes closed, his breathing in sync with Brienne who had already dropped to sleep.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, thinking of home, completely ignoring there was a high chance none of them would live to see the next day.

...


	8. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much they had prepared for it, it was still too much when the attack came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have no words for the response this fic has got. Thanks so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos, I have never written this quick in my life, and I know myself and know I would have probably given up halfway without everyone's comments.   
> There will probably be an epilogue at some point, but for now, this one is done.

No matter how much they had prepared for it, it was still too much when the attack came. 

It was madness, their careful plans falling to the wayside under the relentless attack of thousand upon thousand of decomposing corpses. Jaime heard the screams of terror of his soldiers, men he had fought with in many other battles and who had never sounded like that, witless with horror and despair. He saw men running away as fast as they could, only to fall cut down by another incoming wave of enemies. He saw wights being chopped to bits and still moving, using teeth and nails to keep advancing, saw good men being overrun by them and standing up a few seconds later, eyes bright blue, turning their swords on their friends with the same mindless determination. 

He was terrified, had never in his life felt fear as deep as he was feeling now, it gave strength to the swings of his sword and endurance to his ageing body. He bared his teeth at the oncoming waves or reanimated corpses and killed them again and again and again. By his side, he could hear Brienne's breathing, and her own screams of rage and fear, and feel the fierceness of her swings. But they couldn't keep doing this, they needed to advance, they needed to find the Walker directing the wights.

Overhead a swath of fire descended, Drogon and Daenerys opening a path on one of the flanks, and Jaime could see Brienne turning to them, pushing purposefully in that direction. She screamed something at him, her voice indistinct amid the battle cries and the terrified screams surrounding them. He didn't need to hear her, though, understood what she meant to do and started to move in the same direction, not intending to lose sight of her during the night for even a second. 

He feared if he did, he would never see her again.

They found the Walker standing in the midst of a mountain of corpses clad in Lannister red and Unsullied black leather, all twitching back to a parody of life. Brienne, fearless madwoman that she was, charged straight at it and Jaime followed, unable to do anything except cover her back and prevent any of the dead to touch his wife. This was where he belonged, he knew with unshakable certainty, covering Brienne's back like a shield not letting anything harm her. He couldn't pay any attention to her fight, lest he took his eyes off the oncoming wights and made a mistake, a ball of fear tight in his stomach telling him that while Brienne was unmatched in a fight with men, the Walker wasn't a man. Her grunts of efforts and the sound of her sword clashing with pure ice set his teeth on edge, but he kept swinging his own sword and killing those things as they came, until all of them fell at the same time, the sound of ice shattering in a million pieces and her triumphant yell music to his ears. 

He turned to his soldiers, who were looking around in shock finding themselves without enemies for a beautiful, breathless moment. 

"We need fire before they rise again," Brienne said, her voice low and raspy after so much time screaming. 

Jaime nodded and started calling his troops back to their original position before Daenerys made a pass again with Dragonfire.

He took a look at Brienne, comforted to see she didn't look obviously injured, and they prepared themselves for the next wave.

They lost all sense of time and reality, wave after wave of the dead coming. Sometimes they wore familiar armour and sometimes not, sometimes they wore familiar faces, but most of the times they didn't and it was a relief. And on they fought, slashing away at the relentless waves of corpses, opening paths to the Walkers when they could find one. 

At one point Jaime heard screams coming from Brienne the likes of which he hadn't heard since the Riverlands, screams of terror and desperation, and turned to see her being swamped by the creatures. He felt his heart stop in his chest and drove his sword as hard as he could through his enemy, already turning to her, running to her side, when had she moved more than five feet away from him? Slashing and pushing and tripping over the dead, and nothing mattered but to get to her before she disappeared under the corpses and woke with eyes bluer than her own and infinitely more terrible. 

Somehow he got to her, ignoring the pain of a slash on his leg he had acquired on the way, and shoved his sword into any of the wights on top of her he could reach. Brienne heaved up, her eyes crazed and her mouth opened in a rictus, but her eyes still that beautiful sapphire blue and her heart still beating.

He cleaved to her side then, vowing to not stray from there until they were dead, or everyone else was, and kept swinging and swinging until the dead stopped coming, until they didn't get up again, until the only sounds were the screams of the living and their panting breaths, and the crackle of fire all around them.

He looked around and saw Brienne standing, hunched in pain and exhaustion and looking around with the same disbelieving expression on her face. Many shoot-covered faces stared back from everywhere around, Jaime recognized Pod not five feet to Brienne's other side, and Adam further down the path. 

With a tired breath, Jaime walked to Brienne and let his sword fall from his hand so he could hold her in a tight embrace, her arms to iron bands around him as they breathed together.

They were alive, they had made it. 

…

The smoke was the worst part. 

The pyres surrounding Winterfell were almost as high as the walls of the castle, the heat of the fires melting the snow around it and making Jaime feel like it would also melt the skin off his bones. 

He stood there, his left hand clasped tightly with Brienne's, as he watched the fire consume thousands of soldiers, Northerners and Southerners alike, Dothraki and Unsullied, good men who had given their lives for the survival of the realm. Most of them, he didn't know their names or houses, but it was his duty as their commander to stand watch for their final farewell. Next to them there were only solemn faces, the living honouring the dead. Daenerys Targaryen was standing ramrod straight, her lips compressed on a tight line and her hand trembling clasped between her friend Missandei's hands. Both of them were trembling, the body of the Unsullied commander, Grey Worm engulfed by the flames. Jorah Mormont had one hand resting on Daenerys's shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. On their other side, the Starks were saying their final goodbye to Theon Greyjoy, who had laid down his life to protect Bran. His sacrifice had allowed the necessary time for Arya to surprise the Night King and kill him, Littlefinger's old Valyrian steel dagger finally put to good use. 

They stood outside until the flames consumed everything, and there was only the smell of smoke and death around them. The smallfolk disappeared inside the castle after a while, the soldiers leaving slowly until it was just them, the commanders of the armies, those who had asked others to lay down their lives and had survived thanks to them. 

They all stood there, unseeing until the sun started setting, the chill of the night air making itself known in spite of the heat of the flames. They returned to their chambers, quietly and somberly. A bath had been drawn for them in their room, and they stripped off their soiled and smoky garments and stepped into the tub without exchanging a word. It was a tight fit with the two of them as big as they were, but Jaime manoeuvred them until they were with their backs to opposite sides of the tub and Brienne had her long legs on either side of his torso, practically sitting on his legs.

Jaime picked up the soap in his left hand, leaned forward and started rubbing it across Brienne's shoulders and arms, getting as much of a lather as he could with just one hand, and she closed her eyes with a soft moan and tilted her head back. He washed her arms and shoulders, her chest and back and then picked up one of her legs and started washing that as well, her creamy white skin soft and warm. He listened for her soft sighs as he applied pressure on the arch of her foot, pressing with his thumb and eliciting a groan. He wished he had both hands so he would do this properly, but didn't dwell on it, too used to that thought. He kept cleaning her, first one leg and then the other, and he finally left his hand drift between her thighs, and Brienne moaned but didn't open her eyes. She lifted her hips in a silent plea, and Jaime slid his fingers between her folds, finding her already wet and ready for him. He rubbed her slowly, her breaths deep and rough, her body moving on counterpoint of his hand. He himself getting aroused in spite of his exhaustion, something he hadn't thought would be possible but determined to ignore it in favour of bringing pleasure to Brienne. He kept rubbing until her breathing quickened, her breaths becoming moans, and then he slid his fingers inside, pressing against her nub with his thumb, and kept pressing while his mouth sought hers, practically falling on top of her. Brienne kissed him back sloppily, messily, as if she also didn't have the energy for finesse, and reached her peak like that, convulsing around his fingers. 

Jaime kissed her mouth again and leaned back, his own arousal almost throbbing. She groped almost blindly for the soap he had let fall from his fingers, and once she had it she manoeuvred him so his back was pressed to his front and started washing him, long sweeps of her soapy hands that felt like heaven against his tired body. Then her other hand curled around his erection and he let his head fall on her shoulder, a long drawn out moan ripped out of his throat. She brought him to his climax still washing him, and Jaime felt all the dirt and death of the past days drain out of him like that, and melted against her solid body.

He didn't remember getting off the bath, but at some point they must have done, both of them completely uncaring of anything but getting to their bed and curling around each other, dead to the world.

… 

They had all somehow drifted to the council room while the people of Winterfell filled in for a much-needed celebration. Everywhere they could see soldiers with glasses of ale or wine in their hands, the food getting prepared for a feast that would sprawl to the tents propped outside. 

It was by silent agreement that the announcement would be made during the fest.

Jaime was glad to put down the responsibilities and the title, to go back to the Westerlands and eventually to Tarth. He had only seen the island once from the distance, and he had been unable to think of anything but Brienne during the rest of the trip, the beauty of the waters reminding him of her eyes. Now he wanted to see it with her, wanted her to show him her favourite places, to take her to her home in Evenfall and show him her childhood room. 

"We survived," Tyrion said in the silence once the door was closed to the very rowdy celebration starting outside. They all stared at each other in wonder, two days ago this very fact felt out of their reach, and now they were there, still standing, still together. They had much to celebrate as well, even with their losses weighted in it. 

Tyrion took one of the carafes some thoughtful maid had placed in the room and started filling goblets and passing them around. 

"To the living," he said, lifting his goblet in a toast. "And to the ones that made the ultimate sacrifice for us."

"To the living," everyone echoed, voices choked.

They drank in companionable silence, Tyrion and Sansa standing together while Jon and Daenerys appeared to have picked up a distance that wasn't there before. 

"There is something all of you need to know before any decisions regarding the Kingdoms are made," Bran began with his expressionless voice. Even after hearing it for many days, Jaime still found it incredibly disturbing. He turned his eyes on Daenerys. "The Second Sons have lost Mereen, Slaver's Bay is now in the hands of the Sons of the Harpy. Daarius Naharis perished holding the city for you as you asked him to."

Whatever they had expected him to say, it clearly wasn't that. Jaime had no idea who the Second Sons or the Sons of the Harpy were, but it had affected Daenerys like a blow to the solar plexus, robbing her of breath from the pain. Her lovely features crumpled in agony, and she gripped the hand on Missandei tight enough to hurt. "What about my people?"

"Enslaved once again, and much worse for the taste of freedom they had."

She closed her eyes, a tear escaping down her cheek, and took a breath to compose herself. "What else could I have done?" she asked, though it was clear she was asking this of herself. "I tried, but couldn't stay there, I needed to take my rightful place in this world. I am the legitimate heir of the Iron Throne, my place is here."

"But you're not," Sam Tarly was the one who spoke and all eyes turned to him. He appeared to be unable to hold anyone's gaze, but then he lifted his head and stared a Daenerys, his voice firm. "We didn't want to say anything before the battle, but I found some documentation in the Citadel that proves your brother Rhaegar didn't kidnap Lyanna Stark. He married her and they sired a son." 

"But she died during the rebellion?" Arya asked, her confusion clear in her voice, but Jaime could already tell where this was going, could start matching dates in his head and his eyes snapped to Jon Snow, standing there with the same look of bafflement as everyone else. 

It fit, it was the only thing that fit. Eddard Stark, the unbending moral man who had judged Jaime with one glance and found him wanting, had returned from his campaign with a bastard child in tow. Long and loud had been the speculation of who the mother was, of what temptress could have made that one such as he betray his vows to his wife, but he had kept silent, not even confiding in his wife. 

Jaime laughed out loud, unable to contain himself. " _Oh, Ned, you really fooled us all,_ " he muttered under his breath but was heard in the silent room. 

"What do you mean?" Daenerys said, a dangerous undercurrent in her voice.

"Aunt Lyanna died on her birthing bed, after delivering a healthy son to the world," Bran said, and now the light was entering Tyrion's and Sansa's eyes, both of them turning to Snow, who was frowning and shaking his head. 

"No, you're lying," Snow said, voice almost shaking.

"I saw it, I was there as it happened," Bran continued, and nobody was going to say otherwise. They had seen what he could do during the past few days, they knew what the Three-Eyed Raven was. "Rhaegar had already died when they got to the Tower of Joy, and father fought against the Sword of the Morning, and won the day. But Lyanna was almost dead when he got to her. She gave him the child, who she had called Aegon Targaryen, and asked father to protect him with his life. And he did, presenting the heir of the Iron Throne to the world as his bastard."

"No," Jon Snow said, turned on his heel and left the room.

…

The feast was tense up in the High Table, people sharing concerned looks but unable to address the elephant in the room.

They had to be there, regardless of their feelings or mood, they had to preside the feast to honour their people, to celebrate life with them, they had to smile and pretend to enjoy the lavish food presented to them, they had to lift their goblets in toasts and laugh at jokes most of them weren't even hearing.

Jaime didn't know how he felt about this, Rhaegar had been his prince as much as Aerys had been his king and in his memories, they were as different as two people could be, Rhaegar was gentle where Aerys was ruthless. Rhaegar would have been a good king, and Jaime remembered the last time he had seen him, leaving with his White brothers with the promise of change when he returned. It had been that promise what had kept him hopeful while Aerys descended further into madness. A promise that had been forever unfulfilled. 

And now there was his son, already crowned by different people and under a different name, but unmistakably a king. 

"It makes it so much easier for me," Jaime finally told Brienne once they retired to their rooms. There had been jeers and bawdy jokes shouted at them when they stood from the table, and for once Jaime had not minded at all. Let them believe he was leaving the feast early to fuck his wife and not because the tension in the table was getting thick enough to cut. By the way his brother had been refilling his goblet and Sansa's, they were not the only ones feeling it. 

"How so?" Brienne asked, curious. She filled them a couple of goblets of wine and started removing her outer layers.

He followed her example, it was bloody hot in the room anyway. She kept it always that way to prevent him from complaining about the North.

"Daenerys was expecting the Crown but I promised to give it to a Stark. Turns out it won't be me giving it, it was his all along."

"As long as Daenerys doesn't decide to fight for it, you mean?"

It was a possibility, one that could turn ugly, but somehow he doubted it would. He had a feeling Jon Snow had the same ambition for a crown that Jaime himself did.

"There won't be a fight, can you see Snow fighting for power? He's not that type, he fights for people, he accepted being King in the North to get support for the fight against the dead, but he won't want the throne."

She was down to her shift and started on his clothes next, Jaime knew how to undress himself even one-handed, he'd had years to learn, but it was still one of his favourite things to let her do it for him, to get her hands on his skin while she removed piece after piece of armour and clothing. 

"I don't think Lady Sansa will be very happy if he gives the Throne to Daenerys," Brienne said with a grimace, and Jaime could see what she meant. The North had been fighting to become an independent Kingdom after Ned lost his head. Being part of the Seven Kingdoms under Targaryen rule would be one thing if it was Jon, who thought and looked like a Stark, after all, had been raised like one. 

"Let's not speculate anymore about what will happen tomorrow," Jaime said taking a drink from his goblet and putting it down on the table. He grabbed the front of Brienne's shift and started pulling it up until she sighed and let him take it off her. And there she was, gloriously naked in the middle of their rooms, her body still showed bruises and cuts from the long night, but she was there, alive while the light from the flames pained her skin golden. "Tonight you're still Queen." He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to her left breast, on top of where her beautiful heart kept on beating, and then with a mischievous look at her flushed face, he slid to his knees and pressed his face against her stomach first and then the mound of her sex, his good hand on her ass. "What does my Queen command?"

…

They were the last ones to arrive at the council room the following morning, a bit later than they probably should. It wasn't even Jaime's fault, Brienne had just looked so beautiful in the morning light, he had not been able to help himself. She shot him a disgruntled look and closed the door behind them, the tension inside the room already at a critical point. 

" _You can't_ ," Sansa was saying when they arrived, her voice calm but her eyes showing a raging fire. 

Jon Snow stood her ground in front of her, fists clenched by his side. "Sansa, I can't rule, the last time I tried, I died for it."

"Then who?" She insisted, her voice raising. "The North will never recognize a King who's not a Stark, you are a Stark, will always be one regardless of who was your sire."

Sansa was right on that, the North would rebel against any King that didn't have Stark blood, they had suffered too much at the hands other houses, form the Targaryens to the Boltons.

"Daenerys is my Queen," Jon insisted with the same pigheadedness he apparently employed for everything he did.

Daenerys turned to look at them, a weary sort of determination in her face. She looked sad and exhausted, and Jaime reminded himself she was still very young. "Your sister is right, the North will not accept me. Neither will the rest of the Kingdoms while there is a man with a better claim than mine." She sounded bitter, but there was no anger in her voice or face, just a bone-deep weariness. "I can take the Kingdoms by force, I still have two dragons and a great part of my army survived. I can kill anyone who opposes me and burn the cities to the ground. _Burn them all._ " She fixed her eyes on Jaime, and he felt a stab of pity for her. She was her brother after all, gentle and caring for the smallfolk but with a core of fire forged steel, not her crazy father. She had had to come to the coldest and most inhospitable place in the world to realize that. "I can be Queen of the ashes, triumphant over my enemies while my people loathe me and wait for any misstep to stab me in the back. I could become what people expect of a Targaryen and consume everything in my path, _but I won't_." She sagged in her seat and Jorah Mormont was by her side in an instant. "I don't want that, I won't be that."

There was silence in the room for an instant, and when she spoke again it sounded like a weight had been lifted from her narrow shoulders.

"I'm going back to my people, where I belong. I'll retake Slaver's Bay and this time, I will do it right. Missandei, Ser Jorah, please start getting the ships ready, we'll depart as soon as we can. There is much to do." She stood and went to Tyrion, who had already removed the pin of Hand of Queen from his doublet. 

"This always belonged to Ser Jorah," he said, voice choked with emotion.

She took the pin wordlessly from him and went to Jon and took his hands. "I won't ask you to come with me, I can tell you belong in here."

" _I'm sorry_." And he looked it, Jon looked as if his heart was being ripped out. But he was going to stay anyway. 

She nodded once, fixed her eyes on Sansa and smiled sharply. "You'll keep the North, the way you wanted."

Sansa stared back at her unflinchingly. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Daenerys walked to the door, her back straight and her chin up, and stopped briefly when moving past Jaime and Brienne. "I guess you'll keep that crown," she said and Jaime felt the bottom falling off his stomach. 

" _No_."

"I guess you will, brother," Tyrion said, gleeful. 

"No, I don't want it," he repeated.

"You wanted judgement, Jaime Lannister," Bran said, and that was the moment he realized there was no way out for him, not if Bran told him this was his punishment. "For all your past misdeeds, this is how you atone. The North remains independent, and we will have our own Queen. You will have the task of healing the other Six Kingdoms."

He breathed out, slowly, and released Brienne's hand to take the necessary steps towards Bran, he deliberately kneeled in front of his chair under everyone's bewildered stares. "Am I forgiven, then?"

It was as good as an admission of his guilt; there was the sound of a dagger being drawn and he knew Arya was about to make good on her vow to kill him were he to hurt her family. Bran looked behind him and shook his head once, and the hit never came. "The hand that pushed me was taken from you in Harrenhall, the same hand that killed your king and countless others, and the man that had used it to hurt died there. We wouldn't be here without the choices we made, the good and the bad." He looked down to Jaime again. "No forgiveness is needed. My family will not exact punishment for this except for this one: you will be King until the end of your days, but you are not their ruler but their servant. _You will serve your people_." It remained unsaid that the moment he didn't, the moment he allowed ambition and greed to cloud his judgement, Arya would be waiting for him. 

Not many chances of that, anyway, Brienne would beat him black and blue before she allowed that to happen. Or look at him with disappointment in her eyes, something even more painful to think about. 

Jaime nodded and stood, not meeting anyone's eyes until he got back to Brienne's side and grabbed her hand in an iron grip. 

"To heal the rift between our families," Bran continued in the silence that had fallen. "We should unite the North and the South in marriage. Lannister and Stark."

"I guess it falls on me now to sacrifice myself for the peace," Tyrion japed injecting some much-needed levity to the tense room, since him and Sansa had barely been apart since they came from King's Landing, and it looked like they would have ended up married even if it wasn't for convenience. He walled to Sansa and took her hand, pressing his lips against it. "Your Grace."

"Lord Tyrion." She smiled softly at him, then turned to Jaime. "You will crown me in Winterfell for all the North and the South to see," she said, her eyes as cold as they had been warm looking at Tyrion. "And then you will leave the North, never to return unless called. My brother might forgive you, but _the north remembers_."

It was the best he could hope for, so Jaime nodded. "Thank you, your Grace," he said with sincerity. "I'll speak to my commanders to begin the retreat of our soldiers while you set up the coronation." He released Brienne's hand with a last squeeze. "I'll go talk to Adam." 

He left her in the room with the Starks so she could say her goodbyes to them without his presence there. Tyrion caught up to him outside the room. "That was a brave thing to do, stupid, but brave."

"Well, nobody ever accused me to be craven, or smart." He clasped his brother in the shoulder. "I'll be sorry to miss your wedding, but you will always be welcome in my house. With your Queen, if she ever wants to set foot in it again." 

"I'm sure I'll wear her down, eventually." Tyrion smiled mischievously at him. "I wish father could have seen this," he said and Jaime raised an eyebrow at him. "Think about his face if he ever saw me with a crown on my head, even as King Consort."

Jaime laughed the entire way outside. 

...

The docks in Kings Landing were packed with people when Jaime's ship arrived, and yet it was easy to see where Lord Selwyn and Olenna Tyrell were waiting for them. They had sent ravens informing them of their survival of the Battle of Winterfell and of Sansa Stark's coronation. 

The coronation had been just the day after that painful conversation, enough time for the blacksmith to make a crown fit for a Stark king and for the seamstress to modify a gown for the purpose. Sansa had been coldly polite the entire time they were forced to be in the same room, and he could tell Brienne suffered for the distance between them but could do nothing about it. They had agreed that Brienne could write and visit the North whenever she desired, and Jaime knew he would just let her go as many times as she wanted, even if he'd miss her sorely. 

Arya had snuck into their rooms when Brienne was with Sansa, and Jaime had found himself with her dagger against his throat. He had just started at her calmly, "Don't let Brienne or Tyrion see it," he had said and waited for the cut, because regardless of what Bran had said, Arya had her own sense of Justice. 

She had removed the dagger from his skin then, looking pleased. "You'd let me do it. Good. Still not on my list." She had disappeared the same way she had come in, and Jaime had sat in the same place frozen until Brienne had come back, not even noticing the tears on his face.

They had also informed them of their wedding, and Jaime was a bit wary of Selwyn's reaction to his daughter marrying without his permission. He needed not have feared it, though, judging for the smiles on their faces. 

"Welcome back, Your Grace, Your Highness," Selwyn said, with a proud glimmer in his eyes. "I hope you had a pleasant trip back."

Jaime smiled while Brienne blushed beet red, probably remembering the week they had spent in their cabin in the ship, most days not leaving it even for meals, and how many of those hours ensconced away from the world had been spent making love. There was not a inch of her body that he had not touched or licked or kissed during those long days, and she had reciprocated with eagerness. 

"We did, thank you."

They talked all the way back to the red keep, the people of King's Landing looking at them still warily after his sister's reign but without open hostility now they were fed and the preparations for the winter were well underway. There were rumours of the fight against the dead and the fall of the Wall, of their King and Queen fighting against the dead with their twin swords, of the crowning of the Starks and the healing of old rifts between the families. And most of all, there were rumours of peace and a chance to see the spring. 

They arrive in the Red Keep without hearing one single insult thrown by the smallfolk, something Jaime would have never believed possible. 

He looked at the Iron Throne and decided the first thing he was going to do the next day was commissioning a new set of thrones, for him and Brienne, and to have that terrible thing destroyed. 

"Your Grace," Selwin said once they were next to the throne, Jaime sat in it and took Brienne's hand in his. "King's Landing is yours."

But it was not. 

He was theirs.

...


	9. Epilogue - The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If only I still had both my hands," Jaime said, his voice wistful and full of longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is finally done. Enjoy the fluff-fest.

"If only I still had both my hands," Jaime said, his voice wistful and full of longing. He was looking down at the crib with his daughter in it while his left hand pushed the soft white fluff that passed for her hair up her tiny forehead. Alysse scrunched up her face, a sound like a mewl falling from her lips to express her displeasure at not being in his arms yet.

Brienne bent over the crib and grabbed the little girl carefully in her hands. "Sit there," she pointed at the chair next to the crib and Jaime eagerly obeyed, his eyes huge on his face while Brienne deposited their daughter in his waiting arms. 

She had been terrified to hurt her just two days ago when the midwife had deposited her in her hands, afraid to break someone so fragile and precious with her oversized hands more used to killing than to giving life. She had been terrified her entire pregnancy, even as Jaime kept telling her everything was going to be fine, of not being good or womanly enough to deliver a healthy child into the world. She had also been afraid of dying in the birthing bed, like her mother and Jaime's, more for what she would leave behind than for herself. 

All her fears had been unfounded, though, and having Alysse in her hands and Jaime by her side was more than worth the pain she had suffered.

"She's the most beautiful girl in the world," Jaime said, his voice soft and loving. "Like her mother."

"Like her father, you mean," Brienne protested, same as she had every time he had said it. She was once known as the ugliest maid in Westeros while he had been famed for his beauty; if Alysse was pretty it was not thanks to Brienne. And yet, he insisted that Alysse was beautiful because she looked like Brienne, and nothing she said made him see reason. "You're blind."

" _I'm King_ , and what I say is law," he looked up at her with that infuriating smirk she loved to wipe off his face. "And I say you are the most beautiful woman in Westeros, second only to our daughter. You might lose your position when we have a few more, but I doubt it."

Brienne choked on air. "A few more?" Not that she was opposed to it, at least on principle.

"Well, this one will inherit the throne," Jaime said looking down at Alysse and smiling that hopelessly besotted smile that had barely been away from his mouth for the past two days. Some would say for the past three years, but Brienne still couldn't believe he always looked at her like that. "Then we'll need one to inherit Casterly Rock and another one to become the Evenstar. And a few more just for the fun of making them,"

"Not so much fun carrying and delivering them," Brienne countered, though she wanted a big family as well. She had grown without sisters and had only had her brother for a short time in her life, she wanted her child to have what she didn't.

Jaime turned serious then. "Then we won't, if you don't want more children we'll pass the Rock to one of Tyrion's when he has them and Tarth to Ser Podrick. Your father adores him, he wouldn't be opposed to making Pod the Evenstar." 

She felt her heart swell, as it always did when he made one of his heartfelt declarations. Brienne had married the most ridiculous man in the realm.

It had been three years already since his coronation and the Long Night, three years since they married first in front of a Weirdwood tree in the North and then in front of the Seven and her father in Tarth. Three years of more happiness than she had ever imagined she would have, with the man she had loved in the distance believing it impossible and her father by her side, and with the respect she deserved in both the North and the South.

Three years of his punishment, Jaime liked to say. He was probably the only person who saw a kinghood akin to a prison sentence. It made him oddly suited for the job; he never lost sight of what his responsibilities were, of how he was supposed to serve the realm and not take from it. 

It had taken the best part of a year for things to fully settle after so many years of war; King's Landing had been almost starved and the wounds caused during Cersei's reign would take long to heal. Many houses had been decimated during the long wars, the Baratheons practically extinct. Legitimizing Gendry and making him Lord Paramount of the Stormlands had been a logical decision, even considering his origins and inexperience; the seven main houses needed to survive as the pillars of the realm. The same with the Eyre, which was again in the hands of the Arryn family. Lord Baelish had been found dead in one of his own brothels, his throat slit. Nobody had seen anyone coming in or out of his room, but Jaime had smiled when he heard the news and said ' _it really wasn't my name on the list_ '. 

Something had uncoiled in him after that, Brienne had noticed that he smiled more and laughed more freely and that he was even more insatiable than before, looking for any chance he could to make love to her.

There had also been difficult moments that first year; he had stripped Ellaria Sand and her daughters of their titles and land and sent them into exile. 

"She killed Myrcella," Jaime had said after a long argument. They had been fighting for almost a sennight about this, Jaime wanted to take his army into Dorne and drag them to King's Landing for their execution, Selwyn was opposed to it. They had been at an impasse, neither backing down, but Jaime was reluctant to force his authority even when it was his right as King a fact that didn't escape any of them. "My daughter, who had harmed nobody and died in my arms, choking on her own blood. She poisoned her in revenge for Oberyn, who died during a duel."

Selwyn had been silent after a look at Brienne, and it was finally Olenna who spoke. "Kill her then, and kill the Sandsnakes as well, who have done nothing except following their mother. You would commit the same crime as Ellaria but who cares, you're the King. If you let the Sandsnakes live, in a few years when you have children of your own, watch them come out of nowhere and take your children from you for killing their mother until both the Martell and the Lannister families are dead, because that's how revenge works." Olenna had been right, of course, and it was present to all of them that her entire house had been killed by Jaime's sister.

He had briefly pressed the tips of his fingers against his throat, thinking of another house who had let vengeance go. "Exile then, let them go to Daenerys if so they chose, as long as they never set foot in Westeros again."

That night he had lain with his head on Brienne's chest and told her about Myrcella, about his silly mission to Dorne to rescue her and how he had probably hastened her death with it. She had held him as he cried for the children he had not been allowed to love in life, and had marched next to him into Dorne at the head of their army a fortnight later, both of them wearing the new armour he'd commissioned, Tarth's suns and moons now dancing with Lannister lions in quartered crimson and blue. 

It had been this, more than any other gesture, what had made the people of the realm realise how much he had changed. For the proud Lion of Lannister to change the sigil of his house, to distance himself from his father and sister and mark himself with the colours of an irrelevant house, it was a declaration few people missed. Sansa definitely didn't, and though she was still cold towards Jaime, he was no longer banned from the North.

There had been other changes and other challenges. Euron Greyjoy had not taken kindly to being forced to bend the knee and had tried to rebel once again, the chance Jaime and Asha had been waiting for to crush him. Asha had taken the Iron Islands and crowned herself Queen, same as Sansa, though with the promise to keep her people from attacking them lest they faced their army in open rebellion. The last one hadn't worked so well for the Greyjoys and so far they had kept their word.

And now their daughter had been born and the ravens from the Citadel announcing spring had arrived, King's Landing was thriving in a way few people remembered and the Kingdoms were at peace. And Jaime kept looking at them as if they were the literal sun and moons in his sky. 

She took Alysse from him when she was asleep again to put her back in the crib, and then took his hand and guided him to bed. They shed their clothes unhurriedly and slid under the sheets, curling around each other skin to skin. 

It was too soon after Alysse's birth for Brienne to want to have sex, but she wanted the closeness and the familiarity of his skin against her, wanted his hand on her breast and the press of his cock against her backside, his mouth on her shoulder and the nape of her neck. He has hot and hard against her but made no move except to move his hand to her left breast, just on top of her heart.

"Did we receive a raven from my brother?" he asked drowsily, his voice rough and dragging the vowels.

"Queen Sansa and Tyrion will arrive within the sennight," Brienne said, matching his tone. She didn't want to wake Alysse, she slept little enough as it was. "Queen Asha will come for the ceremony as well."

He made a sound that could have been agreement or could have been a snore. "What about Daenerys?"

"She's in Dragonstone." The ancestral Targaryen seat of Dragonstone had remained empty on Jaime's orders, and once the kingdoms were stable, he had sent a raven to Daenerys in Mereen, telling her that she would always be welcome and honoured in Westeros and her ancestral home would always belong to the Targaryens. The had not expected an answer, but they had received one, thanking them for it and inviting them to visit Mereen and the rest of Slaver's Bay, to see with their eyes what she had done and become. "She'll fly in tomorrow with Aemon and stay here until after the celebration. Her entourage will arrive by ship."

Jaime and Brienne had accepted her offer and sailed to Slaver's Bay, where they had found the cities being rebuilt after many years of turmoil, but the people loved Daenerys and she loved them. The greatest surprise had been the little child by Daenerys side. Aemon had been born just eight moons after the battle of Winterfell and had both his mother's violet eyes and his father's dark hair. "I tried to reach Jon, I know he'd never want to sire a bastard," Daenerys had told them. "But he's gone beyond the Wall, and not even Queen Sansa has been able to reach him there."

"Aemon won't be a bastard," Jaime had declared then. He and Daenerys had struck a curious sort of friendship and had been known to seek each other's counsel on non-urgent matters. "He's a Targaryen on both his father and mother's side, and he'll be a King."

They hadn't gone so far as to agree to a betrothal between their houses, and now that Alysse was born Brienne knew they would never make her marry for anything but love, but they would all encourage friendship between their children and hope for the best.

"Oh good, I haven't seen that bloodthirsty beast in ages," Jaime mumbled, already mostly asleep. "This will be a spring to remember, with all the houses here and in peace. Have I told you I'm going to be an uncle?"

"Yes, you have."

"I bet you can't wait to see your Lady Sansa." He was right, she was eager to see her. She might not be her Lady, but she was still her friend, and the distance between them caused by Brienne's marriage to Jaime has hurt her deeply. Luckily they had mended it in the past year, and now they wrote to each other almost as frequently as Tyrion and Jaime did. "I can't wait for them to see Alysse, how beautiful, like her mother, she is."

"Like her father, you mean," she repeated, closing her eyes and letting sleep come claim her, at least for a bit,

" _I'm King, my word is law_ ," he pressed against her skin, an unintelligible sigh. "And I say, beautiful like you."

She wanted to protest but was asleep before the words had even formed in her mouth. 

She dreamed about her children, Alysse and her sisters and brothers and all the cousins she was going to have, Targaryen, Stark, Lannister and Tarth, all of them were family, and they would make the peace last.

…

**Author's Note:**

> Canon Character Death, though earlier than in canon and in a much better way that they gave us.  
> Graphic violence, but at the normal GoT levels.


End file.
